Mortal
by Changeling Fey
Summary: Valentine has been defeated and the world saved. But Magnus and Alec have their own issues to face. EDITEDIT: HAHAHA I FINISHED IT. HAHA. YUSH. 8DD -cackles madly-
1. Prologue

Magnus tapped long slender fingers against his temple, flickering blue sparks darting from beneath his fingernails and cascading around him in a seizuring shower, a cyanotic wedding veil. _Think, think, think._

Frowning, Magnus picked a pair of leather chaps off the floor, the material smooth against his palm. _Where did I get _these_? _He thought. And then he grinned, tossing them back into the shadowy depths of his closet. _Oh yeah._

Turning back to his bed, Magnus let out a frustrated groan. Two piles of clothes were heaped upon his sunny yellow sheets, discarded shirts and hangers strewn around the mattress like a colorful skirt.

_Sexy? _Magnus sifted through the pile on the right, mesh and leather and vibrant colors sliding over his fingers. _It _was_ Alec's birthday._

_Sophisticated? _He flipped through the second pile. Dark, somber colors and slippery silks. _Maryse and Robert would be there after all._

Maryse and Robert Lightwood, whose "tolerance" would surely be stretched towards latent hostility, were he to veer towards the pile on the right. He could imagine it, plastic smiles and pleasantries hissed through clenched teeth. Magnus could deal with that but Alec wanted the three of them to get along—something Magnus thought highly unlikely in any event, no matter what he wore. But tight leather pants and sparkles didn't exactly equal cordial mom and dad.

Sighing, Magnus gathered up the right pile into his arms and heaved it across the room. Clothes fell to the carpet like brightly colored rain, only a few jackets actually hitting their destination—the back of the closet—with a riot of dull thuds. There was a metallic crash as a buckle-covered shirt slammed into a gilded picture frame, knocking it to the ground. It hit with a resounding crack.

Swearing, Magnus walked over to it, throwing aside the shirt and gingerly extracting the glossy photo from it's cradle of warped metal and crushed glass. It was a candid shot, taken beside the Ferris wheel at Coney Island. Magnus stood in the background, laughing, his eyes closed and his head thrown back in mirth.. The gold and red fire of Jace and Clary was just barely visible in the distant bumper car line. Most of the frame, however, was taken up by Alec's face. His eyes were narrowed, his messy hair falling in wayward curls as he fought Isabelle for the camera. It had been a surprise day trip for Clary's birthday and like a good person Magnus had come along when Alec asked him, trying not to make too many disgusted faces and racy innuendos when Jace and Clary started making out on the Ferris wheel, even though it was dreadfully cliché. Hopefully he wouldn't have to sit next to them tonight.

Setting it on the dresser, Magnus took one last look at the picture before plopping down on his bed and rummaging through his remaining pile of clothes. Faintly, as if through water, his alarm clock beeped annoyingly, telling him that it was 5:30 and he had better get his ass in gear if he didn't want to be late to the restaurant.

Groaning and throwing on the first things his fingers touched, Magnus kicked his way through the crap-covered floor and strode out of his apartment, running his fingers through his pin-straight hair and shoving a mewling Chairman Meow out of the way. Gah, if only he had a portal. But Alec wouldn't be mad. He never was. It was Isabelle he was worried about.


	2. Dinner

**Okay, so, please read, review and tell me what you think. Really, I need to hear feedback. Feedback=Awesomeness. This is randomness incarnate, but hopefully you'll figure out the theme eventually. Sorry if it's short, I'm planning on a lot of short, quick to update chapters, it's a long way from the end! Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, they are owned by Cassandra Clare**

Alec was fidgety. He tapped his foot against the floor, making a quick rhythm that thrummed against the undercurrent of easy conversation and the clatter of silverware. His fingers twisted a corner of red-and-white-checked tablecloth, making it curl and wrinkle when he let go. Isabelle shot him a look but he pretended not to notice. His sister rolled her eyes and rapped her knuckles against the table for silence.

Jace and Clary looked up, their hands twined like vines between their plates, their faces nearly identical masks of guilt. Alec's parents shifted their gazes from the menu to their daughter, who surveyed them all with a haughty tilt to her chin.

"I say we just order already," she said, playing with her hair, twirling it around her finger, so it glowed blue-black under the warm yellow lights. "I mean, Magnus is late enough already."

Alec closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

"I am never late," called a familiar voice from across the room. Alec's head spun around, blood rushing up to paint his cheeks as what must have been the entire restaurant turned from their dinners to watch the warlock stride purposefully towards the corner booth.

Alec suppressed a groan. Magnus wore a finely tailored suit similar to the one Maryse had forced her son into, but it was dusted with a layer of glitter, reflecting back the lights like a million tiny mirrors. His waistcoat was electric blue, a candy-wrapper color that didn't come in the natural world.

"All the rest of you are just early." Magnus grinned and sank lithely into the seat beside Alec, waving away the venomous look Isabelle shot him, her eyes like blue needles piercing his skin.

Alec smiled. Why was it he could never stay mad? Maybe it was because the softness in Magnus' eyes made him melt every time he looked the warlock's way. Maybe it was because his heart blossomed every time their hands brushed "accidentally" under the table. Or maybe he was just a sucker.

"Hey Magnus," he said, his voice quiet and weak, his mother's stare a hammer on the back of his skull. _Thwack, thwack, thwack._ But Magnus' answering grin washed the ache away. His teeth gleamed, and his cat-eyes sparkled with the color of amber.

"Hello darling," Magnus cooed, lifting a thin, long-fingered hand to muss Alec's hair. Dark curls flopped in front of his ice-blue eyes. "You look wonderful." He played with the sleeve of Alec's jacket. "I knew you must have _some_ decent clothes. Though,"—he shook his head and smoothed down the collar of Alec's shirt, clucking with dissatisfaction—"you still have to be taught how to _wear_ them. Oh well." He beamed, tiny laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. It was the only sign of his immense age on his timeless face. "That's what you have me for, right?"

Maryse cleared her throat and Alec jumped in his seat, the legs of his chair making an ugly scraping sound as they were jerked over the floor. His mother was giving him a stern look, while behind her; Robert ran his eyes studiously over the wine list, whistling softly under his breath a tune Alec didn't recognize. Isabelle was tapping her thickly painted nails against the laminated menu, watching the pair of them with a look of abject boredom. Jace was grinning to himself, and Clary was glaring at him out of the corner of her eye.

Isabelle's lips hardly seemed to move as she spoke. "Are you ready to order _now_?"

————————————————————————————————————

It was raining, big fat drops cascading from the sky and painting the world a dreary gray. Magnus was sheltered under the candy-cane-striped awning, watching the shimmering streams of water make a filmy screen between him and the street. There was a package under his arm.

"Thanks for coming," Alec said, shuffling up beside him, his hands tight fists in his pockets, his shoulders hunched as if he could make himself smaller. His hair was rain-darkened, plastered to the skin at his jaw and cheekbones. He looked pale and washed-out in his black suit, all harsh contrasts, like a photo taken in negative. He was heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Of course I came," Magnus snorted, and then caught himself. _I don't snort,_ he thought. _Nervous people snort, and I am not nervous. I am the High Warlock of Brooklyn, I don't _get_ nervous._ Shaking away the thought, he shifted the package into Alec's arms, the crinkle of paper and masking tape loud even in the thunderous rain. "Happy twentieth." Alec winced, as if the number was a punch to the face. Magnus smiled sadly. "I didn't know what to get you, but I hope you like it."

Alec picked at the paper with a ragged nail. "No," Magnus laughed, wrapping his fingers around Alec's hand and gingerly lifting it away, smiling as his skin prickled and his heart thumped erratically. "Open it later. Now go, before you ruin your suit in this wretched rain."


	3. Wrong

**MY COMPUTER HATES ME! I just barely managed to get this up here before my cpu shut down. Stupid Mac. So, if there are any grammatical or spelling errors I am deeply sorry. Kill the computer, not me. But it might be a few days before I upload next.**

** I apologize if this doesn't make a lot of sense. Hopefully it will become clearer with time. Reviews are cherished with all my heart!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. I only wish I did.**

Magnus jumped to his feet and threw the Book of the White. It hit the glitter-painted wall with a smack and rustle of paper, crashing to the carpet in an explosion of clothes and make-up. Burying his face in his hands, Magnus collapsed back onto his bed, the sound of creaking springs grating against his ears.

Faintly, he heard his phone ring, a high trilling warble that made the pigeons perched on his windowsill shriek their displeasure. He didn't even look to see who it was; he just scraped it angrily from the nightstand, burying it under the messy sheets. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to wallow in self-pity.

_Why?_ His mind screamed, and he lashed out, thumping his foot against the recliner, again and again. Pain lanced up his leg, but he didn't stop. It was an easier pain, one with simple cause and effect. One he could drive away if he wanted to. But he didn't. _Why? Why? Why?_

His phone screeched again, it's sound muffled by layers of daisy-yellow cotton. Yelling, Magnus darted up, shifting everything his hands touched on top of the phone, until it was drowned out in silk and his own voice. Catching a glimpse of himself in the floor-length mirror across the room, the warlock let out a little gasp.

Dark bruise-colored bags hung beneath his eyes, the yellow irises shining with unshed tears. He still wore the shirt and pants he had worn to dinner two days ago, but now they were stained and crumpled, hanging loose over his slim shoulders. There was no gel in his hair, but it stuck out erratically of it's own accord, falling in his face and buzzing with static cling.

The silence was thick and heavy and so long that the next time his phone rang, he could hear it even buried beneath his endless piles of crap.

"Dammit!" he swore, clapping his hands to his ears and pressing, as if he wanted to squeeze out his eyeballs. His face turned an ugly beet red underneath it's normal gold sheen. "Shut up!"

His phone didn't stop ringing. Every time it cut off, it started up again, the same maddening, mind numbing tune. From the living room, Chairman Meow cried, pawing at the bedroom door. Magnus fought back the urge to scream.

Everything was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There was supposed to be 'happily ever after'. That's what happened in fairy tales. Everything was supposed to be perfect and good and right. But no. Everything was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Magnus felt like he was going insane. He hadn't slept in days, he barely ate, he didn't go outside. All he did was sit in his room and read that stupid book. And for what? Nothing. No one could help him. No_thing_ could help him. He was cursed. Damned. And Alec would suffer just as greatly.

That was the nail in the coffin. He much didn't care what happened to him. He'd been around too long to care. But Alec—sweet, awkward, wonderful Alec—would be dragged down with him. And that he couldn't bear. He _wouldn't_ bear it.

_Ring, ring, ring._

"ARGH!" Magnus cried, dropping his hands to his sides and getting to his knees. Silk and satin slid over his fingers as he tossed clothes aside. They fell around him like a rainbow fairy ring. It was a minute before he came away with the slim bedazzled cell phone in one hand, the glow from the screen giving his face a ghostly blue pallor.

The number decked out in thick block letters was instantly recognizable. Isabelle.

Before he even thought about it, Magnus was flipping open the phone and pressing the green 'answer' button.

"Hello?" he said. His voice was hoarse and disused. He cleared his throat. "Hello?"

"Magnus?" Isabelle rasped. The way she said his name was quiet, tremulous, doubtful.

_Who else would be answering my phone?_ He thought the words, but all he said was, "yes."

There was a sharp crackling and a rush of static on the other end. Heavy, labored breathing. Isabelle made a choking noise. It sounded like she'd been crying.

"Yes, Isabelle, what is it?" Magnus asked, getting impatient. He felt his heart pound desperately against his ribcage, anticipating her next words. _No. No. No. No, it can't be. No. Anything else. Any_one_ else. Not him. No._

"It's Alec."

**Oh how I love/hate a cliffhanger. You'll find out what Magnus got him soon, I promise.**


	4. Forever and Ever

**Oo, it's getting serious! I had planned on a bit more filler before this point but, oh well. If you're confused, hopefully things will be explained. I know the last chapter was terribly vague, but there is a meaning to my madness. I promise. **

**I will update as soon as possible but I have like a billion things on my plate.**

**Many many thanks to Isabelle Lightwood for beta reading this and helping to make it less crappy.**

**Reviews=Faster updates. Seriously, tell me what you think, even if you hated it.**

**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING.**

Magnus had never thought much about blood. But now, as he stood half-transfixed in the doorway of the Institute, it was all he could think about.

It was everywhere; dripping from the doorframe, smeared in crimson streaks across the floor, gathering in sticky puddles. And all of it was reflected back to him a million times, in a hundred mirrors. Even to Magnus, who had seen more death and pain than almost anyone alive had, it was nauseating.

He heard the elevator doors clang shut behind him, heard footsteps ringing at the other end of the hall, but it wasn't until Isabelle mauled him that the fog in his head cleared.

"Isabelle," he said, trying to sound firm, trying to keep the shaking from his voice and trying not to feel the uneven thrumming of his heart. He wanted to scream, but he swallowed it back. "Isabelle." The girl just let out a strangled sob; her tears dying his coat with salt water. "ISABELLE." Magnus had to forcefully detach himself from her before she stumbled backwards a few steps, sliding on blood.

He had never seen her in such…disarray. She wore all Shadowhunter black, her hair a ruffled ebony sheet framing her deathly white face. The only color on her was her blood-spattered gold whip—stuck through her belt and trailing limply on the floor—and the blood, some hers, some not, that covered her like a second skin, painting her in scarlet.

Distractedly, Magnus dragged a hand down his shirtfront, smoothing out wrinkles. His palm came away crimson.

"What happened?" he asked, and new tears spilled down her cheeks, sparkling with color like prisms in the light. "And be quick about it, my time is valuable."

Something hardened in her then. Suddenly she stood up straighter; suddenly her expression was smooth and emotionless as glass. "We went demon hunting," she said, and her voice was strangely detached. Distant. "It was a nest of Kuri, God, there were tons of them. We weren't prepared for it. It was just me, Jace and Alec. Clary didn't even go. No one expected so many." At this her façade slipped, revealing the frightened girl inside. "Jace—well, you know Jace."

"Yes," Magnus said. "Unfortunately. Now keep going."

"He didn't want to run. Alec and I turned to go but he just laughed at us. I thought maybe that _that_ Jace had gone when he found Clary." Isabelle shook her head. "I guess it's just who he is. But anyway, one of the Kuri saw him, and spat poison. Jace wasn't even looking. But Alec was"—she made a half—choked sound—"and he jumped in front of him. Old habits die hard or something. Jace and I fought back the demon and got him here, but…" She looked up at Magnus then, glacial blue eyes shining with tears. "He's dying Magnus. You have to help him. Save my brother, please."

But Magnus was already gone. All that was left was a swish of coat tails and a trail of footprints marked out in blood.

————————————————————————————————————

At first, the infirmary looked empty. The beds were all made up, the lights dimmed, the air still. But then Jace's hair glittered faintly at the end of the room and Magnus' eyes fell on the boy bundled up in the bed.

He looked like death incarnate. His curly hair was lank and stringy, plastered to his forehead with blood and sweat. His face was glistening, sweat pouring over him the way rain ambles down windows during violent storms. More blood stained the tangled sheets, pushed aside so they half-revealed a bubbling wound on his chest. Pus and skin roiled angrily, flecked with spots of yellow-green Kuri poison. The rest of his skin was paper white and shining, his hands bunched around the blankets in tight fists.

"Took you long enough," Jace drawled. He was as bad as Isabelle. Shadowhunter clothes smeared with stripes of drying blood, slowly healing cuts marked out on his arms and face like crimson runes. Every bit of him oozed lazy confidence. Every thing except his eyes. They were huge, gold, and scared.

"Out," Magnus commanded, shedding his coat and tossing it aside. Jace raised his eyebrows at him as the warlock strode across the room, hooking the leg of a chair with his foot and dragging it underneath him as he sat.

"Why?" Jace challenged. His eyes gleamed with the hint of rebellion. "Why should I?"

"Because you'll interfere with my spell, now scoot." Magnus waved his hand and the chair beneath Jace disappeared. If he hadn't been a Shadowhunter, he would have been sent plummeting to the floor. As it was he just barely managed to brace himself against the wall and push himself upright. He glared, but complied, slamming the door so hard the floor shook.

Magnus rolled his eyes. _Prima donna,_ he thought, before turning to Alec. The boy's eyes were slitted and far away, only the faintest hint of blue hidden behind dark lashes.

"Oh darling," Magnus breathed, brushing back Alec's limp hair. "You really did it this time, didn't you? You stupid, stupid boy." Magnus had to bite back tears. _This is ridiculous. I don't cry. I never cry. _Stop_ crying._

Alec's eyelids fluttered, making Magnus jump. "Magnus?" he croaked, his voice weak and strained. "Is that you Magnus?"

"Yes darling, I'm here," the warlock whispered, summoning the magic lurking like a sleeping animal deep within his chest. It rose to his fingertips in a shower of blue sparks, ran through his veins like fire, made his pores crackle. "I'm going to make you better, just hold on a little longer."

With a sigh, Alec closed his eyes, a languid smile playing on his lips. "Love you Magnus," he slurred.

"I love you too Alec," Magnus said, placing his hands on either side of the boy's face. Sizzling blue magic enveloped the pair of them, wrapped them in a sparkling cocoon. "Forever and ever."

And he began to heal.

**Teehee. I'm just waiting for someone to figure it out. I'm also waiting for people to get tired of my cliffhangers and shoot me in the face but hey, then you'll never know what happens. :)**


	5. Acceptance

**So many people wanting to shoot me. I FEEL THE LOVE! **

**Okay, so I tried to make this one longer but…it's still pretty short. SORRY! And I'm not very good at writing awkward conversations (who **_**is**_** good at that???) so bear with me.**

**A lot of you are on the right track! Thanks for every review; even if you're telling me you want to shoot me in the face. More reviews=faster updates! Tell me what you think!**

**Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.**

Magnus was half-conscious when the infirmary door opened to admit Maryse Lightwood. It was the sharp click-clack of her heels against the tile that jolted him from his daydream and made him look up at her.

"Oh," he said, getting to his feet. His limbs shook with exhaustion but he managed to stay upright. Beside him, Alec groaned and batted at the sheets with one lazy hand. "Hello Mrs. Lightwood." A wince. "I'll be going."

"No," she said quickly, her eyes widening behind the messy fringe of dark hair. Maryse looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her bun was coming loose, black curls framing her sunken, bony face. Purple-gray bags hung beneath her eyes, the color of the shadows cast by her cheekbones. "No. Stay Magnus. And call me Maryse, please. Mrs. Lightwood makes me feel like an old British nanny." She attempted a smile, but it just came out worried and forced.

"All right, Maryse." Magnus settled back into the chair, absently running one hand through his disorderly hair. Blue-black strands dangled lank past his ears, clinging to his sweaty skin.

Maryse sat down on the bed, springs creaking as she brushed back Alec's hair. Her eyes were haunted, the lines around her mouth deepening into a frown. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Alec will be fine," Magnus promised, scrubbing at his face. His eyes stung. "Your foyer on the other hand…" He gave her a half-hearted grin.

She returned his look with a weak but devilish smile. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about the carpets."

His grin widened, showing off his teeth. "Press ganged Isabelle and Jace did you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. Maryse nodded. "The work will be good for them. Character building and all that."

Alec groaned, his face twisting into a pained mask, the sweat that lingered on his skin glimmering as he moved. Magnus placed a hand on the newly made scar that covered the right half of his chest stretched, shiny and palely pink. Alec's breathing was slow and arduous but even, his heart thumping hard under Magnus' touch.

Maryse made a choking sound and when Magnus met her gaze, he saw the tears that glittered in her pale blue eyes and dripped onto the front of her shirt. Her make-up had begun to run, mascara painting long dark streaks across her face. She bit her lip and bunched her hands into shaking fists. "God," she whispered. "How do I thank you?" Her expression was imploring, searching his for some way to make her earnestness clear. "You saved my son's life."

Magnus shook his head, pulling back his hand and tapping his nails against the bed frame. The sound made a tinny metallic ring that echoed off the walls. "You don't need to thank me," he said, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "You not running to grab your torch and pitchfork is enough." Maryse laughed, but it sounded more like a strained cough. "Though, I hope you know," Magnus added, his eyes sparkling with amber color.  
"I would be here anyway."

"I used to wonder what Alec saw in you. You, a warlock, a Downworlder. Now I think I know. If there's anything I can do…"

"Tell me you don't mind. Us being together."

"It was never a question of minding." Maryse paused, considering it. "Well, maybe it was in the beginning," she amended with a guilty quirk of her lips. She sighed, her shoulders heaving as if with sobs. "It's a question of wanting what's best for my son, and doubting that you're it." She smiled, looking between her son and the warlock, her face morphing slowly to something mysterious and utterly unreadable. "I don't doubt anymore."

Magnus looked away, pulling his legs up under him, and resting his elbows on his knees. The edge of the chair bit into his thighs, keeping him from slipping into unconsciousness. It had been a grueling task, healing Alec with so much demon poison in him. Almost impossible. If it had been anyone else he would've pulled out his cell phone and told them to call the mortician.

But not Alec. It had almost killed him, but he did it. He dragged him back from the brink of death by his hair. His power was nearly gone, the sleeping animal inside him groaning and pathetic in it's slumber. If anyone else got hurt, they were screwed. It would be forever before he could conjure so much as a spark.

"I can see how much you care about him," Maryse said, wiping her eyes, leaving a mark like a bruise on the back of her hand and make-up smeared across her nose. "And I know he cares about you." She smiled, tired and hopeful. "Forgive an old woman her prejudices?"

Magnus shrugged. "It's not a question of forgiving. Alec loves you,"—he gestured towards the sleeping boy with a jerk of his head—"then so do I."

"Thank you," Maryse breathed, and tears dotted her lashes like a million tiny diamonds. She leaned over and kissed Magnus on the cheek, leaving a pale pink lipstick mark. "But if you ever break his heart," she warned, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction. "I'll feed yours to the fairies."

Smiling, Magnus nodded. "Duly noted."

Then his eyes widened and before Maryse could blink, he was on his feet and halfway across the room. _Surely not, _he thought, his mind racing. For the first time in days he felt wide awake, his heart beat hammering in his ears. _Surely not._

"Where are you going?" Maryse asked, standing. She looked worried, her skin tightening around her eyes as she frowned. Crossing her arms over her chest, she hunched her shoulders, as if she was cold.

_Surely not. Impossible. But maybe…?_

"I just remembered something," Magnus said, picking the shapeless lump that was his coat off an abandoned bed and draping it hurriedly over his shoulders. The material was cold against his skin, fighting the fire that pulsed in his veins. "I'll be back before he wakes up." When Maryse gave him a hesitant stare, he added, "Trust me."

_Maybe. It's worth a try._

She sighed, wrapping her sweater tighter around her slim frame. Everything about her seemed tired, beaten. Everything but her eyes. They sparkled in the dim light like cut gems, piercing him like knives. "You've been warned, Bane." She was only half joking.

"Please," Magnus said, sparing Alec one last look. "Call me Magnus." He strode out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

_I'll be back. I will. I have to be._

————————————————————————————————————

"Hello?" Alec called, and then coughed. His voice was harsh and rough, scraping against the inside of his throat, making him gag. Every part of him hurt, even his toes ached. There was a new scar stretching across the plane of his chest, and his hair stuck to his skin with dried blood.

Everything he knew said he shouldn't be alive. But the heavenly scene floating dizzily before his eyes was a familiar one. The ceiling of the infirmary, angels and clouds drawn out in pastel paints.

All Alec could remember was a flash of blue sparks and a sweet voice in his ear. And pain. Always pain.

"Hello?" he called again, but only the echo answered. The room was empty. "Magnus?"

Alec tried to sit up, but waves of agony racked his body, making him cry out and sink back into the sweat-stained pillows. His breathing sped, his limbs shook and twitched, and his eyes drifted closed. He wanted to sleep, but he was afraid of what might happen if he drifted into darkness.

"Magnus?"

_**Review, review, review!**_** Please? I know it's vague and I know it's confusing, but, indulge me a little? Keep the theories coming!**


	6. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Hey, it's the longest one yet! But you'll have to wait a little bit longer for the next update. One, I have tons of crap to do, and two; I'm still debating between two different plot twists. O.o It shouldn't be more than a few days though.**

**I'm proud of you guys, a lot of you figured out he'd be going to the faerie queen. As for why…you'll have to wait and see. **

**I love everyone who has reviewed, you're the best.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Mortal Instruments.**

Turtle Pond shone like a mirror, perfectly reflecting the night sky, unmarred by ripples or weeds. The moon hung huge and swollen against the black velvet backdrop, it's twin hovering among the watery stars. Far away, birds twittered and crickets cried, their tinny laments echoing through the park. It was strangely peaceful, despite the distant sounds of the city. The shouts of drunken revelers, the scream of angry cabbies, the hiss and rush of cars. Beneath Magnus' feet, the ground thrummed gently with the subway's movements.

Magnus paused at the pond's edge, letting the water's icy fingers claw at his shoes and the hems of his pants. "Well this is it," he said to no one, his voice sounding disturbingly hollow in the following quiet. "Down the rabbit hole I go." He stepped forward and shivered.

As a rule, Magnus did not like water. It sapped his strength, his power, made him feel like he was dying. His magic was a thing of fire and electricity. The water fought against it with tooth and nail. In his already weak state, it nearly made him black out. Dark spots danced before his eyes, blotting out stars both original and reflected. Only by sheer exertion of will and a quick conjuring of Alec's face did he keep himself awake.

Another step. Water rushing up to fill the space between his clothes and his skin, numbing his legs and making him stumble. Ripples ran from him like a werewolf from silver. His coat billowed out around his knees, dragged him down.

Another step. The moon's twin wasn't far now, just a few feet away. But it seemed like miles. The silvery orb shimmered with the waves caused by his clumsy feet.

Another step. A crow screeched and swooped low over his head, ruffling his hair and marking out two scratches across his pale gold forehead. Cursing, he summoned the dregs of his magic and healed himself with a hesitant explosion of blue sparks, leaving just a faint scar behind. Magnus swore. He didn't usually leave anything behind.

Another step…and he was falling. Water flew by on every side of him in a torrent of half-frozen darkness. Bubbles rushed from his lips, spiraling desperately towards the faint white light glimmering overhead.

_It's not supposed to take this long, _he thought as his lungs burned for air. _I'm going to die. Nine hundred years dodging death and I die drowning in a pond. How pathetic. _

_I'm sorry Alec. I tried. I really did. I love you. I'm sorry._

A painfully beautiful face swam in front of him, milk white skin and huge completely black eyes that somehow glowed. The faerie's hair fluttered out in a pale blond nimbus, and wrapped around him like weeds, slimy and smooth against his arms.

A hand wrapped around Magnus' arm, and he screamed. Water rushed into fill his mouth, making him choke. The faerie's touch was so cold that it burned, leaving long red welts against his skin. Blue sparks sputtered out to repair the damage, making the pair of them glow an eerie color. For just a second his magic warmed him, and then all of a sudden it was gone, snuffed out as easily as a candle flame. He felt empty, as if someone had chopped off his arm. It would be ages until he could stop so much as a bloody nose.

The faerie pulled, and he sank deeper. For a second unconsciousness claimed him, and then he struck hard packed earth. All the air was squeezed from his aching lungs; his eyes popped open, taking in the circle of faeries that surrounded him, arrows pointing down his nose.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The faeries glared down at him with almost identical masks of fury and distant disdain. Every single one of them was unbelievably gorgeous, but every feature held a hint of otherworldly wrongness. One faery had long gold-red hair and a narrow face. Curling from beneath her knee-length dress, was a trio of fox tails. Another wore the body of a young girl clothed all in green, but her ears rose to sharp points and delicate green wings spread from between her shoulder blades, as thin as gauze. Each had a faint shimmering light dancing around their hands and the wood of their bows.

Glamour then. But the arrows would still pierce his skull as easily as any other.

Finally, Magnus opened his mouth, water dribbling down his chin, and brushed back his clinging dark hair. "That is the last time I go down a rabbit hole. They are thoroughly unpleasant experiences."

"Do not deign to speak, _warlock_." A tall woman shoved her way through the circle, standing over him with hands on her hips. Her long white gown hugged her slim frame, her blond hair hanging past her waist and streaming with water. Tapping her foot, she frowned. Her face was cruelly lovely, her eyes completely black. "You have trespassed on our lands and therefore shall be executed."

"I wish to request an audience with your Queen. I have done favors for her in the past, she will see me." He cast his gaze over the fairies, grinning inanely. "Is this how you treat a fellow Downworlder then?"

"You have no right to request an audience with the Queen. The likes of you have no rights in this realm. And besides, she would not see you." She waved a disapproving hand in his direction. Her fingers were webbed.

Magnus' fingers dug into the earth, the tendons in his arms straining against his skin. "Bring me to her then," he challenged, leering towards her. The point of an arrow pressed against his cheek, a rivulet of blood—diluted by water—trailed down his face. "Prove your claim. If she does not wish to see me, she will turn me away, and you can do with me what you will."

The blond faerie frowned, her thin eyebrows pulling together to carve a line down her forehead. Finally, she snarled and the muscles in her bare arms bulged. "Let the warlock stand," she hissed, stepping back. The circle widened, giving Magnus enough space to stumble to his feet. Water flowed off his clothes and gathered in a little puddle around his feet.

Blondie pressed her lips together and motioned to the fox faerie, who let go of her bow, allowing the glamour to flicker away into nothingness. "Bind his hands." The fox faerie moved behind Magnus, her fingers pressing against the wet skin at his wrists. For a moment, he burned, and then the pain faded, incandescent yellow loops tying his hands together. "I want no tricks when we bring him through the revels." Blondie scowled at Magnus, her dark eyes shining with malice. "I know too well the havoc warlocks can wreak."

Magnus gave a little quirk of his lips. "A wise decision overall, but as you can see by the state of my arm,"—he gestured with a shake of his head—"I have no magic at my disposal, I am drained. I am no threat."

Blondie's booming laugh echoed through the cavern. The luminescent moss lining the walls glowed brighter as if in reaction to her hysteria. "Do you honestly think I lived this long by believing the words spoken by silver tongues?" She pointed at the other faeries. "Leave us, I can handle him." The faeries vanished as if they had never been, leaving only the faint twinkle of ghostly lights.

Beckoning with a quick curl of two fingers, blondie turned and swept off, her gown trailing on the floor behind her. Magnus followed, feeling too much like a dog on a leash.

The silence stretched for a long minute. "They weren't going to let me in," Magnus said finally, as the corridor bubbled out into a huge cavern, circled with carved white pillars and draped with pale fabrics. Faeries of all shapes and sizes, some beautiful, some grotesque—but all terrible—danced, lithe bodies swaying hypnotically and hopping up and down.

_Oh dear god, _Magnus thought. _It's a supernatural Mosh pit. _The music came from nowhere, sweet and temperamental, the mood morphing at the drop of a hat. The sound was mesmerizing, and even immune to glamour as Magnus was, he felt the urge to join the throng and dance away eternity.

_No, _his reasonable side chided,_ got to think of Alec. _

His hippie side—the sixties had been a very good time for him, plenty of bright colors and bell-bottom pants—laughed. _What Alec, _it said, urging towards the faeries. _Go and dance. Mellow out._

_Alec Lightwood, the stupid, sweet, foolhardy Shadowhunter that I love to death. The one with the blue eyes. _Hippie Magnus faded at that, but it was still a minute before modern Magnus regained control.

Magnus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Taking to himself, even internally, was never a good sign. "They were going to let me drown."

Blondie looked over her shoulder, clearly amused by the indecision on his face. "Do you ask confirmation for you insinuations?" she asked, venom in her words. "I assure you, they are completely accurate."

"So why did you save me?" Magnus pressed, ignoring a small boy covered in reddish fur and sporting a bushy tail as he moved closer to him, beckoning with his hands. The boy's eyes glowed, his face full of innocence.

Magnus swallowed and looked away. He was in control. The sixties were over, just a box of dusty clothes in the corner of his never-ending closet.

"Pardon?" Blonde snorted. "I do not _save_ warlocks."

"I don't forget a face," he said, all too glad when they moved from the cavern to another corridor. This one was walled with slick brown material, soft as driftwood but hard as steel. "I saw you, in the water. You dragged me out. Why?"

Blondie sighed, and the little he could see of her expression looked sad and longing. "When you entered the water," she said, her eyes far away. "Your presence became known. When you crossed the moon's reflection, your thoughts rang throughout the realm of Faerie. Most were not listening, but I am attuned to the roll and sway of the water, it is a part of me, I am of it." She paused, one hand lingering on the smooth wall. "I loved once too. And, like you, I gave everything I had to give. But it wasn't enough. I know the pain firsthand. It is something no one should have to bear."

And then they were walking faster than ever, Magnus struggling to keep up, the bindings biting into his hands. "What is your name?" he asked, breathless.

She didn't even look at him. "Names are powerful things in Faerie. They are not given lightly, if at all."

He rolled his eyes, careful not to let her see him do it. "Something I can call you then."

Nearly giving him a heart attack, a pair of faerie knights appeared before them, long pale fingers resting on the hilts of their gleaming silver swords. They were beautiful, one with hair the color of new leaves, and one with hair that actually was new leaves. Faces as sharp as knives and white as the full moon stared at him with badly masked contempt. Their armor was purple-black, the color of a bruise, and shining like the carapace of a beetle.

"Who attempts to gain access to the Queen's chambers?" the leafy-haired one asked. His voice was sweet and needle-tipped, maple syrup poured over broken glass.

"Magnus Bane," Magnus said, noticing that blondie lowered her gaze in the presence of the knights, her hair falling around her face in a gold waterfall. "High Warlock of Brooklyn."

The other knight disappeared, moving so fast that Magnus barely saw him move. In the blink of an eye, he was back. "Follow me," he said. The knights spun, turning every step into a graceful dance. Blondie and Magnus followed them to a wall made completely of intertwined vines, glittering with amber dewdrops.

Shoulders hunched, blondie swept aside the curtain, her voice quiet and fleeting as a breath as Magnus moved past her.

"Nerissa. I am Nerissa."

He tried to give her a smile, but the vines had already been swept back into place.

"Hello Bane," said the Queen of the Seelie court, lying resplendent on a low couch, surrounded by her faerie courtiers. They looked plain in the shadow of her brilliance.

Magnus ducked his head in a motion of respect.

The Queen rose, her long hair draped around her like a scarlet cloak. She smiled, and when she did she was do devastatingly lovely that Magnus had to fight the urge to look away. "If anyone else had broken into my Court uninvited, they would have been dead before their feet touched the ground. However, I am willing to extend my forgiveness, call it repayment for the services you have done our people in the past."

"Very kind of you, my lady," he murmured.

"Now tell me," she said. Her voice was soft and sugary, but radiating power. "What possessed you to risk my wrath? It is not a pretty thing to see, as you know well."

His lips twitched. "I most certainly do. I come to ask for your aid."

As slow as the flow of molasses, as dangerous as the gleam of a knife, her smile broadened, showing of perfect white teeth. "Then ask for it."

And Magnus, High Warlock of Brooklyn, who bowed to no one, to whom the word please was like poison, sank to his knees. His voice was beseeching and wretched when he spoke.

"Help me."

**See that big green button? Push it, I **_**dare**_** you. Seriously, the more you review, the faster I'll update. Tell me what to change, help me improve, tell me what you did and didn't like. And I'd like to remind everyone that murder is a crime.**

***Pulls out rubber chicken and high fives Murtaghluver* **


	7. Tales of Woe

**I know it's short but you guys are lucky I finished this much. I woke up late and barely had time to write this. Yes, I do have a life. Not much of one, but hey, I'm not complaining.**

**Thanks to all reviewers, I love you guys!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Nerissa and her story. Everything else belongs to Cassandra Clare**

"Make Alexander Lightwood immortal."

The Queen frowned, carving a hard line between her eyes. Somehow, it made her look even more beautiful, in a brooding, sullen sort of way. One of her courtiers giggled, a girl with long moss green hair and brown skin that crackled like bark. Magnus resisted the urge to shoot her a glare. It took all his strength of will to keep his head lowered and his hands still, even as a trickle of water wound his way down his neck, raising goosebumps.

"You are not the first to ask me for this," the Queen said, cocking her head to the side. Her head shifted with a sound rustling autumn leaves. Her eyes glowed with old power. "I highly doubt you will be the last."

"But will you do it?" Magnus blurted, wishing he could snatch the words back as soon as they left his lips. _Shut up,_ he told himself. _Shut up and listen to what she says, idiot._

"It is not a matter of will," she said, gathering the folds of her long cream-colored dress in one hand and baring a slice of her ice-white legs. With more grace than seemed possible, she strode over to where a girl sat, a tray resting on both her outstretched hands. The Queen's steps made no sound. "It is a matter of can." Smiling evilly, she lifted a crystal goblet from the tray, not seeming to notice as the girl's hands shook and a drop of crimson liquid spilled to the floor.

"What do you mean?" Magnus asked, watching the girl carefully. She kept her eyes on the floor, hidden by long tangles of dark gold hair. She seemed dim surrounded by the rest of the faeries, washed out, like an old photograph.

The Queen lifted the goblet to her lips and took a long sip. "It is indeed true that the Fair Folk are blessed with exceptionally long life," she said, replacing the goblet on the tray, her fingers brushing the girl's trembling hand. The girl yelped, surprised, and the tray went tumbling from her grip, spraying the Queen's dress with a pattern of scarlet wine. The crystal goblet shattered against the floor, liquid pooling around it like blood pooling around a dead body.

The expression on the Queen's face didn't change as she reached down and slapped the girl across the face, leaving an angry red mark. The girl gasped, and for just a second Magnus saw her clearly. A smattering of freckles was painted across her nose, her rounded ears poking from beneath her hair. Her eyes were a clear, endless blue. _Just like Alec's. _She was undoubtedly human.

The Queen returned to her couch, settling down as if nothing had happened, her smile unmarred. "We neither age nor fade in any discernable way," she continued, as the girl was lifted away by the leafy-haired knight and dragged crying from the room. Magnus tried not to stare. "But the gift of immortality is not one I am liberty to give."

"But you can give it," Magnus said, glancing up just once, quickly.

The Queen nodded. "In theory, yes," she paused to beckon the bark-skinned faerie, whispering in her ear. The faerie bowed and left the room, her gown bouncing around her legs. The Queen let out a long sigh.

"Have you any idea how many tales of woe and destruction are weaved into our history?" she said. "And almost all caused by humans. We are beautiful creatures Bane, no one would deny this. Even the most grotesque among us,"—she shot a look towards a faerie with a hollow back and a face so sunken she looked like skin laid down over bone—"are more alluring than any human. It is part of our magic. Humans have been falling in love with us since the beginning of time. And every once in a while there would be a hero, a king's champion, that one of the fey would love in turn. There was a time when I would bless upon them immortality, allow them to live among the Folk." Her smile was wicked. "But it never ended well."

Magnus couldn't stop himself. "What do you mean?"

"You met Nerissa, did you not? She was once a sweet, carefree girl, but time has turned her bitter and coarse. One of the heroes I changed was hers. A long, long time ago. But humans are not made to live forever. He began to fade." The Queen shook her head in an unbelieving way. "But Nerissa loved him. She gave everything, even offered her own immortality for me to make him right. I refused her. I would not warp one of my own into something half-human and half-fey, caught between two worlds. A wraith, a shade. I think she's hated me ever since. Her human died, and she retreated to the pond, living on the very edges of our realm. An exile."

"That would not happen to me," Magnus said, shaking his head hard. His heart was thumping furiously in his chest, fast and rigid as the beat of a war drum. The sound pounded in his ears. "I wouldn't let it happen."

"You wouldn't have a choice," the Queen pointed out, her voice devoid of any emotion. Her eyes were like two empty holes, looking into them was like looking into a bottomless pit and trying to gauge how far he would fall. "Your human would fade, just like all the others, and you would be left with the guilt and sorrow of his memory. No, I will not do this."

"Please," Magnus said, begging now. He didn't want to beg. It was degrading, humiliating, unbecoming. He couldn't remember the last time he begged. But he did now. He begged for Alec, for a chance to be with him. It was all he wanted, and here the Queen was telling him it was the one thing he couldn't have. "There has to be some way. Something. Anything. I'll do anything."

And she smiled. And the smile was so cunning, so conniving, so dangerous, that Magnus shuddered, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. He might not be human, but the faerie Queen was something so completely other that he pushed back the urge to flee. "It is tempting, I shall give you that much." Her grin spread, lighting up her endless eyes. "To think of the things I might ask of you in return. It is tempting. But I swore long ago to never bequest immortality again. I cannot break that promise."

Magnus choked down his fear and his smartass response. "Yes, my lady," he intoned, looking anywhere but at the treacherous Queen.

"But," she said, quietly now, as if part of her had diminished. "Because you amuse me, and because of your past, I shall let you leave my realm alive and unspoiled. Treasure this gift, for it is not given lightly."

"Yes, my lady," he said, getting to his feet. The two knights returned and each took one of his arms, their faces hard and impassive as stone. They led him from the room and through the dizzying blur of the faerie revels, through a whirl of color and limbs and beautiful faces.

Before he knew it, Magnus was rushing through the dark swirl of pond water, icy currents digging into his skin. Part of him wished he wouldn't surface. Part of him wished he would drown. It would be easier. Easier than going back to Alec, easier than watching him as he grew and changed and aged. Easier than watching him die.

His arms were so cold he thought they might fall off, half-frozen in ten places, five completely deadened parts just below each elbow. It was somehow soothing, like the gentle buzz of anesthetic. Suddenly there was hard pressure at the numbed parts, as if someone had squeezed him. The water rushed past so fast that it forced his eyes closed.

He broke the surface, water streaming down his face. Instinct kicked in and he sucked in deep, bone-rattling breaths so frozen they burned his throat. As he sloshed to the shore, wet and dejected, he thought he saw a face just below the water's skin. A pale face, framed by long blond hair. It disappeared as quickly as it came.

He must've been imagining things.

**Review please! Seriously, review. Tell me what to change! Help me improve! This fic is a long way from over!**


	8. Paper Wreath

**Sorry this is a little later than planned, I wasn't in a Alec/Magnus mood the past couple of days. To tell the truth, I wasn't really today either, so this kind of sucks. Also the fact that I was crying the whole time I was writing.**

**(JafaCake: Abuse away! I hope it will be clear now why I was so depressed.)**

**So, read on, don't kill me, and as always, tell me what you think! (Also, there's a Gandalf [LOTR] reference in here for anyone clever enough to catch it. If anyone does, they'll get virtual cookies and I'll update tomorrow.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Still. Obviously.**

Magnus jumped when Alec opened his eyes, sloshing coffee over the rim of his mug and onto his lap. He cussed under his breath and brushed away the beading liquid.

"That you Magnus?" Alec rasped, the sound of his voice scratchy and faint. Magnus winced, and for a moment, his resolve wavered. _I can't do this, _he thought, watching as Alec looked up at him with huge blue eyes so full of love and trust. _I can't do this. I can't._

"No," Magnus drawled, covering his shaking with layers of mockery and sarcasm. "I'm Jace. Don't I just ooze asshole-ishness?"

Alec laughed, a harsh, irritating noise that sounded more like a cough than anything else. "Asshole-ishness?" he scoffed, raising a shivering hand to wipe back his clinging hair. Magnus had to resist the urge to do it for him, especially when he saw the boy's lips quirk with pain. _No, _he told himself, bunching his free hand into a tight fist around the hem of his coat. _You have to do this. There's no other way. You have to do this. No other way. _"Is that even a word?"

"It is if I say it is," Magnus snapped, more clipped and terse than he had planned. In an attempt to lighten things, he lifted the mug in Alec's direction, making a face. "Isabelle makes really shitty coffee, did you know that?"

Alec's eyes nearly swallowed up his face. "You're drinking that?" He sounded alarmed, his voice jumping a good couple of octaves. "And you aren't _dead_?"

Magnus' eyebrows pulled together and he pursed his lips, peering into the depths of his nearly empty coffee. "Should I be worried?" he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"You should be hospitalized!" Alec shoved himself up into a sitting position with a grimace and a tiny moan. Bandages were wound around his torso, looking dirty and yellow against the stark white of his skin. The hint of a burn poked out near his shoulder, the skin puffy and shiny red.

"I think I'll take my chances."

There was a long pause, in which the only thing to be heard was the gentle sucking sound of the coffee splashing against the wall of the mug.

"Where were you?" Alec said finally. The look in his eyes was wounded and withdrawn as he tried to meet Magnus' gaze. The warlock turned his head aside.

"I never left," he lied smoothly. It wasn't hard. Lying never was. Not after nine hundred years. It was easy to ignore the twinge in his chest that throbbed with every untrue word.

Instead of looking to Alec, Magnus focused on the picture resting on the nightstand beside a dirty glass and pitcher half filled with water. The photo was frame in delicately tarnished brass, wrought in the shape of climbing ivy and embellished with tiny gemstone flowers. In the background whirled the Ferris wheel on Coney Island, lit up with a million lights like multi-colored fireflies. Everything else was taken up by Magnus and Alec, both grinning like idiots, their faces pressed close together to squeeze into the frame. There was a piece of wrapping paper taped to one corner.

"Yes, you did," Alec pressed, toying with the edge of the sheets. "I woke up earlier and you were gone. I remember it. Where were you?"

Magnus sighed. "I do have a life, Alexander, I am the High Warlock of Brooklyn after all."

Alec's face fell and Magnus winced. He shouldn't have been so curt. _I can't do this. I can't do this. _"I know," Alec said. "I just…thought, I don't know." He sighed. "I figured you would stay."

_I have to do it. I have to. _"There was something I had to do."

"Well, thank you, anyway,"—he gestured to the bandages with one hand, a half smile on is lips—"for healing me." He didn't know what was wrong, but he could feel the tension.

"I almost didn't answer my phone."

Alec snorted derisively. "You always answer your phone."

"But I almost didn't."

"Why?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Does it matter?" Magnus asked, setting down his mug and resting his chin on his hands. "If I hadn't picked up, what would have happened to you? You wouldn't have had time to find another warlock. You would've died."

"But I didn't," Alec said, talking to him as if the warlock was a small child failing to understand why he shouldn't go pet the big kitties at the zoo. "Because you were there."

Magnus shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, leaving a glittery streak of colorful make-up across the back of his hand. It shone in the light as he moved. "What if I hadn't been there?"

"Are you not going to be around?" Alec asked. "Is that what you're trying to tell me? Are you going somewhere?"

"No," Magnus said, and his voice sounded strange. Coarse. Choked. "I'm not going away. I just,"—he paused and ran his fingers through his heavily gelled spikes, making them lean to one side, falling in his eyes—"I just can't be around you. I can't."

There was panic in Alec's eyes but his voice was strangely calm. "At the risk of sounding cliché, are you breaking up with me?"

Magnus frowned and bit his lip. "Well, no, it's not—"

"Is it my mom," Alec interrupted, leaning forward. The sweat on his bare skin glimmered, the sheets rustling loudly in the tense air. "Did she say something?"

And for the first time Magnus smiled. But the smile was so sad that it sent a chill racing down Alec's spine. The boy leaned back into his pillow, the smell of blood and sickness heavy around him, thick and cloying, making him gag with each breath.

"No, Maryse has given me more room to run than I deserve," Magnus said, and his teeth flashed gleaming white in the gloom. "Probably more than what's wise." The warlock sighed and gave Alec a heartbroken grimace. _I have to. I have to. I have to. It's easier this way. _"It's you, Alec."

"Did I do something in my sleep that I don't remember?" Alec asked, cocking his head to the side, trying to joke. It didn't work, his weak humor falling flat and leaving them both more anxious than before. "Did I drool?"

"You didn't do anything in your sleep," Magnus said, gritting his teeth together. It was harder than he had thought it would be, harder than he'd planned for. The words stuck in his throat, weighed heavy on his chest. It was nearly impossible to force them out. "It's something you will do."

Alec's eyebrows pulled together, his mouth opening and then closing. Lines appeared on his face that made him appear older, worn out, beaten. Magnus' heart throbbed painfully, making him bite back a gasp. _I have no choice. _"I…don't follow," Alec said finally, the scrunched up appearance falling from his face, just a series of faint creases as a reminder.

"You'll grow out of me." The words seemed to echo in the sprawling room, growing softer, fainter, until they were nothing more than a memory that pounded on the inside of Magnus' skull. _There's no other way._

Alec wanted to scream. It wouldn't have been out of place if he had. Everything hurt, a deep, nearly unbearable ache that pulsed with his heartbeat, bathing him in waves of fire. But it wasn't why his teeth tingled with the effort of biting back a cry.

Magnus had to be joking. This couldn't be happening. It _couldn't_. Alec tried to meet the warlock's gaze, but it was like trying to catch smoke. Close enough that he could feel it on his skin before it slipped all too easily away. He had to be joking.

But there was nothing joking about the way he held himself. Shoulders hunched, head ducked, fists clenched in his lap. Alec could see the over-tight muscles in his arms through the material of his jacket. Everything about him screamed of suffering, of pain, of reluctance. But there was nothing to hint that what he said was anything but the complete and utter truth.

"What?" Alec said finally, his voice quiet even in his own ears.

The tendons in the warlock's neck tensed. "Don't act stupid because I know you aren't," he hissed, and for the first time Alec saw a part of Magnus he wished he hadn't. It was a cold part, made of ice and broken glass. There was no amber sparkle to warm his piercing stare. Only irritation. But then it faded and Magnus looked worse for wear, dull. "I'm a phase, Alec, always have been. You'll grow up. I won't. No matter how much I wish I could change things, I can't. It's the way it is."

Alec thought he might break in half. The pain that tore at him had nothing to do with the physical. Or maybe it did. It felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest and tossed to the floor, leaving a ragged bloodstained wound. "Why are you doing this?" he gasped, his fingers tightening on the sheets. He needed something to hold, something to control. "Can't we enjoy what time we have? I mean, I'm not saying you're wrong, but can't we try? Maybe there's something we could do…"

Magnus cut him off with a shake of his head. "There's nothing, Alexander. Nothing we can do. Nine hundred years I have walked this earth and never have I found a way to keep everything I love from fading away. I can't watch you grow up. I won't." There was a finality to his tone that made tears well in Alec's eyes. _No, _he thought, biting down on his lip. _I won't cry, I won't._

"Magnus," he breathed. "Please—"

Before Alec could blink, Magnus was on his feet and looming over him, his hand outstretched and cradling a piece of crumpled notebook paper, covered in dark scrawl. It landed on his lap, bouncing away to rest against his hand. "Here's the contact information for another warlock," Magnus said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "He lives just a few blocks away."

Magnus started to walk towards the door, his shoes making next to no sound on the tile.

"Wait!" Alec cried, struggling to get out of bed. Pain ripped through his chest and he fell back, clutching his stomach, the tears he had fought to keep away streaming unbound down his cheeks. He saw Magnus flinch, concern flickering in his glowing eyes.

"Take care of yourself, Alec," the warlock said as he eased the door open with a creak and a metallic rattle. "Please."

"What does it matter to you?" Alec hissed. It came out angrier than he intended, but he didn't regret it. It felt good to rage. He was rewarded by a sad look on Magnus' face, gone as quick as it had come.

"I love you," he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Alec did scream then, the sound of it reverberating against the walls and booming in his ears. It made his head ache.

Raising a hand, Alec swatted at the picture on the nightstand, reveling in the satisfying ring and crunch of shattering glass, relishing every ding in the delicate frame. Reaching for the fold of paper, he tore the corner, letting the curl fall to the sheets.

He fell asleep an hour later, wreathed in paper scraps and fast drying tears.

**Don't kill me. Please. I'm begging you. I honestly think this is what would happen. Cross my heart and hope to die. Crap, no, I didn't mean that! Don't shoot! This isn't the end of Alec and Magnus! I promise!**


	9. Three Packs of Oreos

**Sorry this is kind of short and is really crappy, I haven't been home much and I wanted to get it up today. Mostly because I didn't want to torture you guys any longer than I had too. **

**At Anon.33: I'm going to try as best as I can, to not have Nerissa be annoying. I think since she isn't there to fall in love with anybody, it should be doable. Hopefully.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, etc, etc. It all belongs to Cassandra Clare, who, in my humble opinion, did not include nearly enough Alec/Magnus. But that's just me.**

It was harder than Magnus thought it would be to ignore the calls. They came at every hour of the day, echoing through his disturbingly empty apartment, ringing in his ears until he blasted the volume on the TV and tried to drown everything else out in the annoyingly English voice of Simon Cowell. But he wouldn't turn the ringer off.

It was part of his punishment, to have his fingers itch towards the phone, to dig his nails into the arm of the chair until his hands ached and he left crescent moons dug deep into the patent leather. He listened to every angry message that filled his voicemail, let Isabelle cuss him out, let Clary sigh with disappointment, let Jace beg for him to come back before Alec ate all his cookies. And every once in a while, Alec would call. And Magnus would listen to his voice, letting each word stab him, letting each choked sound punch him in the face. It was his punishment, his self-inflicted retribution.

Magnus thumbed the keypad on his phone, scrolling through messages left earlier that day, the ones he hadn't had a chance to listen to. He picked one randomly, and held the speaker to his ear.

"Magnus? Please, come on, I know you're there." It was Alec. He sounded faint, far away, his voice scratchy and thick with tears. "Please answer. Please, I just—I just need to talk to you. Please. At least tell someone you're okay. Ple—" Alec's voice broke and there was a hiss of static. "Please. Please pick up the phone."

Magnus bit down on his lip, and hit the button to trash the message, setting his shoulders in preparation for the next.

"Magnus Bane! Answer the god damned phone, right now!" It was Isabelle. Obviously. He thought he heard someone in the background crying, but it might have just been interference. Or maybe it wasn't. "I swear on the Angel Magnus, if you don't get your ass down to the Institute by tomorrow I will come to your apartment and drag it there for you! Do you have any idea what you've done, you son of a bi—" The message cut off with a beep and Magnus dumped it without a second thought.

"Magnus, if you don't settle this thing soon, I swear, Alec's going to start writing morbid poetry and slitting his wrists." Jace. Always so blunt. "He's like a zombie, he doesn't even do anything when I call him a lazy fat ass. I could chuck a soccer ball at his head and he'd still just sit there. AND HE'S EATING ALL MY COOKIES! You owe a good three packs of Oreos and a box of Thin Mints."

Delete. Sigh.

"Magnus? I don't know what happened, but seriously, call Alec, I'm really scared for him." Clary. Always the first to play the guilt card. "If I didn't see him breathing and eating all of Jace's cookies I'd swear he was dead. He loves you Magnus, and you broke his heart." Luke's gruff voice was in the background, but Magnus couldn't catch what he said. "I know you love him. Don't do this. Call him."

Delete. Magnus leaned forward, resting his head against the coffee table, the smooth glass surface cool against his heated skin. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, fighting with the sound of _American Idol_ from the widescreen TV across the room. Whoever was singing was god awful, but Magnus didn't change the channel. It was the insult to his injury, and it made him feel just that little bit less self-loathing.

When he lifted his head, he left an oily smudge against the glass. It was eaten away at the edges, raggedly fading until it disappeared like a childhood memory.

The two-tone sound that signaled an incoming text rang next to his hand. Grimacing, Magnus lifted the phone, running his tired fingers over the flaking rhinestone gems bordering the glowing blue screen. A little envelope flashed beside the words 'new message'. He debated for a moment whether or not to read it. Finally—groaning through his teeth—he flipped open the cell, his nails scraping over the slick silver surface.

_Alec ran off by himself and came back bleeding, I don't know what's wrong with him! Please come, if you have any feelings for him left than you'll come to the Institute. Hurry, I don't know how much time he has!_

_-Isabelle_

Sighing, Magnus thumbed out his response, the lines around his eyes deepening with every keystroke.

_I am sorry but I cannot come. I'm almost drained of magic. Before I left, I gave Alexander the name of another warlock. Call him._

The answer came just a few seconds later.

_He threw it away._

"Dammit," Magnus swore, but not because of Alec, because of his own stupidity. He'd forgotten to keep a copy of the warlock's address. _That's what you get when you don't think ahead._

Closing his eyes, Magnus took a series of deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It shouldn't be pounding away inside his chest. He couldn't let it. This had to end. He couldn't be hung up over Alec for the rest of eternity.

But he couldn't bear to let him die either. His magic might just be a trickle amid a roaring flood, but if it had any chance to keep Alec alive, he would give it all.

He typed out: _I'm coming_ and sent it to Isabelle, draping his coat over his shoulders as he got to his feet. His phone buzzed, making the chair rattle against the rim of the coffee table, emitting a metallic clang, but he ignored it. Slamming the 'off' button on the remote, he kicked Chairman Meow out of his path and made his way to the door, shivering at how empty and desolate his apartment sounded.

_Dammit,_ he thought, as he shut the door behind him, rolling the key until the lock clicked. _Damn that child._

**Ok, so maybe I'm going to torture a little while longer. Review and I'll write faster, seriously, it's the best motivation I know of. Hopefully I'll be able to post tomorrow, but don't count on it.**

**(I have nothing against English people, just Simon Cowell.)**


	10. Tattered Heart

**M'kay, so, this is shorter than usual, and out of character and just generally bad, but I'm going to try to get the next chapter up tonight, and it's a lot longer.**

**I love all you guys that review, you're awesome!**

**At Anon.33: Yeah, I know they were OOC, but I couldn't figure out how else to write them. There didn't seem to be any right way. Hopefully they'll be better in the future, though Alec does become a bit Jace-ish. Though that becomes a big plot motivator later on, so…yeah.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Did anyone think I actually **_**did**_**?**

Magnus knew he'd been had when he stepped out of the elevator and onto the pristine tile floor. Absently he wondered how long Isabelle and Jace had to scrub on their hands and knees to rid the place of blood. The thought made him smile.

Alec stood a few feet away, very much not covered in blood, looking completely fine except for his holey sweater and messy hair. But he always looked like that. He leaned against the wall, one white hand tapping against the paneling, the other cradling Isabelle's battered pink cell phone.

Magnus sighed but didn't make to leave. He just crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"You came," Alec said after a moment. His voice was quiet but undeniably accusing. Magnus could see the antipathy battling with love in the boy's ice-blue eyes. It made his heart ache like a physical blow. Alec was too young to be so bitter. "I asked you to come if you still had feelings for me. And you came."

"Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf Alexander?" Magnus asked, keeping his voice came even while he longed to scream and cry and wrap the Shadowhunter in his arms. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Alec shook his head.

"It's a horrible tale," Magnus said, focusing on keeping each breath shallow and even. He wouldn't show emotion. "Dull, unimaginative, wrapped in sugar and morals until mundane parents can look past the morbid qualities of it and read it to their children. Would you like to hear it?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

Magnus nodded and attempted a sarcastic smile. It fell limp on his lips. "Quite right. So there was this boy—"

"A Shadowhunter?" Alec interrupted, toying with the phone, flipping it open. Open, close, open, close. It was awfully distracting.

"No," Magnus said, trying to look distant and remote. "A shepherd's son."

"It'd be better if he was a Shadowhunter," Alec muttered, and the façade slipped from Magnus' features.

"Oh for goodness sake, shut up," he snapped, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Anyway, the boy was bored with his work, and decided to have some fun. So he ran around like a damn chicken with it's head cut off, screaming, 'Wolf! Wolf!' All the villagers rushed to help him, God knows why, he was obviously touched in the head, but there was no wolf. So all the villagers went back to their tasks, and the boy sat up on his hill laughing his ass off. But he got bored again. And so, once again, he started screaming, 'Wolf! Wolf!' The villagers came, but again, there was no wolf."

Alec looked like he was about to fall asleep. Boredom was written all over his face in clear bold strokes, with a hint of animosity in the set of his shoulders.

"Does this story have a point or do you just enjoy watching while I slowly drown in my own drool?" he asked, in a mocking drawl that sounded nothing like him.

"Jesus, you're starting to sound like Jace," Magnus said, and was reward with a flicker of surprise. "It's creepy. One day, the wolf does come. And the boy starts screaming, 'Wolf! Wolf!' But the villagers have had enough of being made fool of." The warlock leaned forward, as if he was telling a ghost story over a dying bonfire. The nearest lamp sputtered, light dancing over the angles of his face, only adding to the effect. "And they don't come."

Alec couldn't help it. He gulped. "What happens to the boy?" he asked.

And Magnus leaned back, the intimidating demeanor gone as quick as it had come. "The wolf eats him," he said with a nonchalant air, as if discussing nothing more important than the weather.

The pause stretched on, heavy, suffocating as a wet blanket, pressing down on both of them, prompting thoughts they didn't want to think about, and questions they didn't want to ask.

"Who's the wolf in this equation?" Alec said finally, quietly, as if afraid Magnus might strike out at him.

Magnus let out a sigh. Suddenly he looked tired and beaten. He looked every one of his nine hundred years, each decade carved into the lines of his frown. "There isn't one. But if you keep screaming that there is, eventually the villagers will stop coming."

"You won't stop," Alec said, a convicted edge to his voice that made Magnus' hopes drop to his mud-stained boots. He wasn't giving up like he was supposed to. "You're too afraid that I might be telling the truth."

"How sure are you?" Magnus asked, shifting closer instinctively, letting Alec see a hint of his darker side in his dangerous smile. It was something he needed to see. "Sure enough to risk it?"

Alec swallowed hard, his neck bulging around his Adam's apple. The same neck Magnus had once showered with kisses. He never would again. "You came today."

Magnus' voice was even, betraying nothing of the battle inside him. Only his hands—bunched into fists at his sides to stop them from reaching out—gave any hint that something was wrong. "There's nothing stopping me from leaving now and never coming back."

"Except for the fact that you still love me." The doubt in his eyes made Magnus want to cry.

"What gave you that idea?" he said, biting back tears.

"You told me." Alec was so quiet that even a few inches away from him, Magnus barely heard.

Magnus took a step forward. "I'm a warlock, a _Downworlder_. What makes you think I wasn't lying?"

"You're a terrible liar?" It was more a question than anything. Full of uncertainty and the possibility that it wasn't true.

"I'm a wonderful liar," Magnus spat, leaning forward so close he could've kissed him. It took all the self-control he possessed and more he hadn't known he had to stop him from doing so. "Ask me if I love you."

"Do you love me?" Alec blinked, his eyes watering painfully. All he could see was Magnus' eyes, two amber orbs that sparkled as the warlock breathed. Alec could see himself reflected in the cat-like pupils.

"With all my heart," he said, with such passion and certainty in his voice that Alec shivered. He was either a wonderful liar like he said, or he was telling the truth. But Alec couldn't tell.

He was so close. _So_ close. And then he was gone, standing next to the elevator, his arms hanging limply at his sides and every emotion wiped clean from his face.

"Don't call me again," he said, pressing the button to call the elevator. It lit up with a ding, making the shadows flinch away. "Please. I don't deserve it—I deserve to wallow in self-hating misery for the rest of forever—but I have to ask. Please. Don't call."

"Magnus, wait," Alec called, unhitching himself from the wall and shoving Isabelle's phone into his pocket. "Talk to me. I called you here for a reason."

"What reason?" Magnus asked as he slid aside the grate and stepped into the elevator. Only his slim caramel hand stopped the door from closing. "Because you want me back?"

"Yes," Alec said, twining his fingers into the edge of the grate, his chewed-down nails scraping against the wrought iron. He considered jumping into the elevator, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the coldness icing over Magnus' stare. "I love you Magnus, I don't want to be without you. I want you back."

"No," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't. Because deep down you know I'm right. That we can never be, and it's better for both of us if we don't try. It can't work. Do us both a favor Alexander, and let me go. Let the scars heal over your broken heart. Let yourself burn with resentment. Let yourself hate me." He smiled, but the smile was a thing of sadness and lament. "But don't let yourself love me."

His hand flashed back and the door clanged shut, the elevator ferrying away the warlock, leaving Alec and his tattered heart standing in the entryway.

**Oh snap. Review! Please? Next chapter has a lot of Jace in it for all you fangirls (if you're there) and a glimpse of sarcastically awesome Magnus. Yay!**


	11. Tortured Souls Scorned by Fate

**Sorry I didn't get this up last night, I am easily distracted. I love you reviewers, you make my day! This now has the second most reviews of all Alec/Magnus fics! You can tell I'm really excited by my gratuitous abuse of exclamations marks!!!**

**Anyway, here is some quality time with Jace, because I felt he was just a little too awesome not to get a chance in the spotlight.**

Magnus was eating when the phone rang. Well, he was less eating than he was pushing the food around and making swirling designs in the layer of soy sauce coating the bottom of the bowl. But he liked to think that qualified as eating, seeing as he hadn't had so much as coffee in the past twenty-four hours.

Setting his bowl down on the coffee table, he shimmied the phone out of his ridiculously tight pants and checked the caller ID. Jace. Normally he would've chucked the phone across the room and waited for the voicemail to pick it up, but something made him answer.

"Magnus?" came the scratchy voice. Magnus shifted to the side—nearly tumbling from his chair—and the static faded away. He had the weirdest dead spots in his apartment. "It's Jace."

"I know," Magnus said, still at a loss for why he had picked up. Maybe because he wanted someone to talk to. Maybe because he wanted to be cussed out. But he didn't know.

"Can you meet me at Taki's?" Jace asked, and a car horn wailed in the background. "I just want to talk, one tortured soul scorned by fate to another."

Magnus let the silence stretch, waiting for Jace to point out the flaw in his own logic. Chairman Meow mewled and nudged his water dish, making murky liquid slosh onto the kitchen floor. Magnus kicked him away with one bare foot, but the stupid cat just arched against his ankle, his silky fur sticking to the hem of Magnus' jeans.

"It's just me," Jace said finally, sounding exasperated.

The warlock was unconvinced, letting accusations layer his words. "I've learned the hard way just how much your Shadowhunter promises are worth." Crushing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, Magnus got up from his seat and bent over, cradling the whining cat in his arms.

"Fine," Jace sighed. "I swear on the Angel, I'm the only who's going."

Magnus shifted Chairman Meow to one arm, ignoring the cat's screech as he yanked open the refrigerator and shimmied out the half-filled pitcher, water lapping against the cracked plastic sides. "Are you going to go run right back and tell Alec everything I say?" Setting the cat down on the counter, Magnus dumped the bowl of filthy water, filling it with new stuff from the pitcher. Chairman Meow cried and butted against his hand, making water splatter onto the linoleum.

"No."

Mopping up the spill with the edge of his sleeve, Magnus lowered the dish to the floor, replacing the pitcher to its slot between a half-eaten pizza and a carton of orange juice. "You're buying," he said, and in one smooth motion, he slung the phone from his shoulder down his arm to his hand, and flipped it closed.

————————————————————————————————————

"Magnus!" Jace called. He was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly with a part-fey girl. He waved his hand, and the girl smiled to herself, her gauzy wings fluttering through two holes in her dress. "Over here!"

"Yes, yes, I see you," Magnus said, burying his hand deep into the folds of his pockets. Taki's was packed, the thrum of conversation battling for dominance against the sounds of the kitchen drifting through the little window. "You're rather hard to miss." It was true, surrounded by bright lights and darkly dressed Downworlders, the Shadowhunter stood out like a sore thumb, his bright hair glinting like spun gold, his white shirt glowing faintly.

"Hey," called a burly werewolf in a tattered muscle shirt. He sat hunched over a plate covered in blood and hunks of meat, a nearly identical man across from him. "Are you Magnus Bane?"

Magnus sighed, and Jace made his way through the throng, nimbly dodging a nixie boy bearing a tray of tall glasses filled with amber colored fluid. "I rather doubt there are many other warlocks named Magnus in the tri-state area."

The werewolf laughed, and asked, "Could you beat up Dumbledore?" His friend frowned.

Raising his eyebrows, Magnus snapped his fingers and flicked his wrist. The werewolf's plate soared into the air, coming down hard on his messy hair, splattering him with flecks of blood. With an earsplitting screech, his chair flew backwards, abandoning him on the ground, his head falling forward to crack against the table. Magnus smiled. "What do you think?"

Jace appeared next to him, grinning, his hair ruffled as if he had just rolled out of bed. "And here I was thinking you were drained," he said, waggling a finger in the warlock's direction.

"I am," Magnus said, all the color draining from his face. His hand flashed out, his nails digging into Jace shoulder. His knees turned to jelly, his legs wobbling unsteadily. "Get us a table before I vomit all over your shoes." That seemed to get Jace moving. Careful to keep his feet out of Magnus' path, he helped the warlock to a deserted counter booth. Magnus sank gratefully into the cracked faux leather backrest, Jace sliding in across the table.

"Great," he muttered, watching the werewolves out of the corner of his eye as they scrambled out, cussing and screaming. "Now I'm not going to be able to come back here for the next decade. At least."

"I had to defend my honor," Magnus defended, holding up his hands and shaking his head. "To even think that old fogey could defeat me."

Jace grin widened, showing off every one of his teeth. "So says the nine-hundred-year-old warlock."

"So insults the impudent young Shadowhunter who begged me to come here in the first place."

He laughed. "Point taken."

"What do you want Jace?" Magnus asked, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his elbows on the table. "I'm missing _Lost_ for this."

"I want you to take Alec back," he said, without looking up from the laminated menu, his fingers tapping along the back.

Magnus sighed, pressing his lips together. "Why am I not surprised? I told him—and he no doubt told you—that the two of us simply can't work. I'm going to live forever and he's going to die. It's easier for both of us to end it now."

Clicking his tongue, Jace set down his menu, shoving it towards the end of the table.

"That's not what Alec thinks."

Just then, the part-fey waitress click-clacked over, her long blond hair pulled back from her face with an abalone clip. Jace ordered "the usual" and Magnus asked for coffee. She smiled and swept up their menus, disappearing into the back.

"What would you do if it was Clary?" Magnus asked, running one hand through his tousled hair. Faint traces of glitter came off on his palm.

Jace's facial expression changed into a mix of painful memory and almost paternal concern. "I would do anything I could to keep her. I wouldn't stop trying until it killed me."

Grimacing, Magnus leaned closer, bunching his hands into fists. "It nearly did kill me. I would've let it. Do you think it was my choice to stop trying?" He laughed without humor, watching as Jace's lips twitched. "I ran out of options."

The waitress dumped a paper box of fries in front of Jace and slid Magnus his coffee before vanishing once more.

"I believe you," Jace said, tearing a fry in half and eating each piece in two separate swallows.

Magnus almost smiled. "No you don't."

Jace _did _smile. "No, I don't." He reached for the saltshaker, sprinkling tiny white crystals over his fries with fastidious care.

Taking a long drink of coffee, letting the liquid burn his throat, Magnus closed his eyes. "I've talked with every Downworlder in New York state. I've called every friend, every fling, every acquaintance in my address book until I couldn't speak for the next three days. I went to Idris; I searched through the library, the records, I went into the sewers and asked an ancient troll that smelled like old cheese. I read every word of The Book of the White, until the pages gave me paper cuts and my eyes burned. I went to the Seelie Queen, uninvited, and begged her to help me." His eyes popped open, boring into Jace like amber arrows. "I did everything Jace. We can't work. Watching him age, it would kill me."

The boy nodded, fiddling with the wax paper lining the box of fries. "I understand," he said finally, his voice unusually quiet.

"No you don't."

And Jace laughed, twirling a fry between his fingers before dropping it in his mouth. "You're talking to the master of the forbidden fruit here, Magnus. Trust me, I understand."

Magnus' smile was as brilliant and fleeting as a summer storm. "Ah yes, your fiery little apple."

"I rather doubt Clary would appreciate being compared to a fruit," Jace pointed out.

"Roll with it," Magnus said, stirring packaged creamer into his coffee. "I've got a good metaphor going here. If she's the apple, does that make you Eve?"

Jace fake-grimaced, but said nothing, choosing to eat the rest of his fries in heavy silence. When the last of the salt was wiped from the box, he looked up.

"You still love him," he said, total conviction in his eyes. Magnus' heart gave a little painful tug.

Magnus frowned, staring at Jace with withering eyes. "You're not rolling with it."

"You're not answering me," he countered.

"I wasn't aware I was being asked."

"Fine," Jace sighed, crumpling the wax paper into a tiny ball between his long fingers. "Do you still love him?"

Magnus nodded over his cup, running his nails along the rim absently. "More than anything."

Jace leaned forward, such intensity in his gaze that Magnus instinctively shifted back. "Then it's worth every fragile mortal second."

"I can't," Magnus whispered, his face falling in miniscule increments. "I just can't."

Sighing, Jace pulled out his wallet, siphoning out a few crumpled bills and leaving them on the table. "I guess I'd better be getting back to my apple," he said, smiling a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "She doesn't know I'm gone."

Magnus got to his feet, pulling his coat tighter around himself despite the fact that the restaurant was warm almost to an uncomfortable point. Suddenly, he felt cold. "Tell me, Jace," he said, his voice no more than a breath. But Jace heard him anyway, looking up from counting change. "What is Eden like?"

The smile spread like an infectious disease, crinkling his face and drawing lines around his eyes. "It's hell."

**If you didn't get that last bit, read it a couple more times and you might. I have to think about it a little while myself each time I read it. Sorry for any typos, I type fast and badly. Every time you review, Magnus and Alec have a better chance at 'happily ever after', so press that button!**


	12. Nothing Good Can Stay

**I'm going to tell you right now, this chapter isn't very good. I wrote it like five times, but each time sucked worse so I just ended up using the original. Oh well. It'll get start getting better, I promise.**

**TheLadyPendragon: You're completely right. XD *hands you virtual cookies* **

**(This chapter is dedicated to my friend, who did indeed, suck her friend's hamster up with a vacuum cleaner.)**

**Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing. This should be glaringly obvious.**

Magnus hadn't been sleeping well. He tossed and turned all night, tangling himself in the canary yellow sheets, throwing his pillows across the room and burying his face in the musty smelling mattress. But no matter how much he moved, he wouldn't let himself roll over onto the left side of the bed. Because that was where Alec slept. That was where Alec _had_ slept. And never would again.

For once, he had actually managed to slip into a shallow slumber, memories flitting through his mind like fragments of shattered dreams. The first time he had seen Alec, backlit by the orange glow of streetlamps, his stance withdrawn and defensive, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. The sound of his voice the first time he had called, soft and confused, as if not completely sure he had actually dialed the number himself. The touch of his fingertips, callused and rough, every angle of every scar covering his muscled chest. Magnus knew it all. He'd never forget. He didn't want to.

But it wasn't long before his dream became a nightmare. Nothing good can stay.

_He saw Nerissa, her dress torn and stained, leaves tangled in her wet hair. She was running through sparse forest, stumbling around skeleton-like trees, her bare feet crunching the red-gold leaves to mulch. In her hand was a bottle filled with clear liquid that swirled rainbow colors as her arm bounced. _

_There was a sharp twang and an arrow soared past her ear, clipping her cheek and drawing a line down her jaw that oozed crimson blood. Drops fell from her chin to her dress, sliding down her bare arms like shapeless twining marks. Her foot caught on a root and she nearly fell, her free hand darting out to grab a low-hanging branch and right herself. But it cost her a few precious seconds. Behind her, their footsteps light and soundless on the brittle undergrowth, appeared the two green knights, bows drawn, blank expressions on their handsome faces._

"_Bane!" Nerissa cried, looking straight at him, her glowing black eyes filled with panic. "Magnus!" A branch swept across her face, a lingering leaf—crinkled and brown—dusting her skin. The branch bounced back into place, blood threading over the leaves like broken veins. "BANE!"_

Magnus woke up. He bolted upright, his nails digging tiny furrows into the comforter, his hair flopping in his eyes, and half the buttons ripped from his shirt, leaving it gaping over his heaving chest. Buttons littered the bed like a scattering of stars, shimmering faintly. Each breath sounded loud in the empty room, thunderous, cloying, pressing down on his ears. His heart pounded away against his ribcage. He wanted to scream.

"BANE!"

The voice echoed through his door, and he jumped. Scrambling out of bed, he threw a fuzzy purple robe over his shoulders and stepped cautiously into the living room, the last of his magic sparking at his fingertips, making the glitter-painted walls sparkle with blue light.

"MAGNUS!"

Magnus started, a curl of fire accidentally lancing from his thumb and nearly decapitating Chairman Meow, who looked up at him with accusing eyes and a baleful screech. The voice was distant, distorted, as if through water. It was coming from the kitchen.

Careful where he put his feet, Magnus slid around the divider and into the dim room, lit only by the LED on the toaster and a strange, unearthly glow emanating from the sink-full of dishwater he'd forgotten to drain. Oops.

The light shimmered and danced, casting twirling rainbow colors over the underside of his cabinets. Leaning on his tiptoes, he peered into the murky water, and nearly fell.

Nerissa's face filled the sink, warped with every drop of water that fell from the faucet and spread ripples across the soapy skin. She was running as if her life depended of it, blood coating one side of her face like a Phantom of the Opera mask, dripping down to stain her dress. She was also looking _right at him_.

"Magnus!" she cried, her voice full of relief.

"Nerissa?" he asked, not quite sure if he was still dreaming or if there had been something not right with the chicken wings he'd had for dinner. This couldn't be real. He'd seen a lot of weird things in his nine centuries, but this took the cake. Well, maybe after those munchkins in the Wizard of Oz. He shuddered. Gnomes. Creepy.

"Come to Central Park!" She ducked, and an arrow came shooting over her head. Magnus leaped back instinctively, letting out a yell, but the arrow just disappeared as it touched the water's surface. "Bow Bridge! Hurry!"

The image faded, and Magnus was left staring at a sink of filthy dishwater reflecting back his own wide-mouthed face. After a moment, he shed his robe, replacing it with a long dark coat, brushing his hair back from his still sleepy eyes.

Real or no, there was no way he was getting back to sleep now.

————————————————————————————————————

Isabelle and Jace were fighting. It wasn't as if they'd never fought before, but over stupid, inconsequential things, like chore schedules and "did you suck up my hamster with a vacuum cleaner?" This time they fought with tooth and nail, leaving the halls of the Institute echoing with their rants. You see; Isabelle blamed Jace for Magnus and Alec's break up. Jace thought Isabelle had eaten a bowl of crazy flakes for breakfast. And so they fought.

"If you hadn't been such an overconfident asshole and walked away when we did, Alec wouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place!" Isabelle screeched, her face turning red. Her hair stuck out around her head in a static ebony halo, her make-up messy and hastily done. No one at the Institute had been looking their best lately.

"It wouldn't have mattered!" Jace yelled back, his hands tightening into fists. He wouldn't swing, but the pinpricks of pain summoned by his nails digging into his palms helped him to focus his anger. "This would've happened anyway!"

"You don't know that!" The mirrors rippled as the pair moved. A hundred frantic Isabelles fighting a hundred livid Jaces. The lights overhead flickered weakly as if in response to her words.

"Yes I do! Magnus told me!" Jace ground his jaw, his teeth digging into his tongue. Sometimes his sister could just be so…_infuriating_. She had no idea what she was talking about.

She froze, a bizarre statue, one foot hovering a few inches of the ground, her hand caught mid-gesture. Slowly—her dark eyes never leaving Jace—she straightened, her eyebrows jumping up to meld with her hairline. "You talked to Magnus?"

_Shit._ "No," Jace lied smoothly.

Isabelle glared at him accusingly, waving a hesitant finger in his direction. Her lips quirked with triumph. "Yes you did. You said so. You said Magnus told you."

Jace opened his mouth to tell her that she was clearly insane, when Clary came running up, her fiery hair falling down from her bun, curls straggling in front of her eyes. She was gasping, as if she'd gone a long way, her skinny knees wobbling slightly.

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!" she screamed, shifting her angry stare between Jace and Isabelle, setting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side in that way that was so familiar to them both.

Isabelle gave her a look that could wither roses. "We're in the middle of something here, so if you don't mind…"

"Alec's missing!" Clary blurted, her hands darting up to cover her mouth as if she could snatch the words back.

"WHAT?!" Jace and Isabelle screeched in nearly perfect unison.

Clary sighed and lowered her hands. "I was going to bring him some food, but he wasn't in his room. I looked everywhere."

Isabelle was beside herself. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I—" Clary was cut off by the annoying trill of Jace's cell phone. She let the air rush out of her lungs and form an exasperated sigh as he slipped the phone from his jeans and held it to his ear.

"Shadowhunter." Jace's eyebrows jumped up. It was Magnus. The warlock's voice was tense and strained, each syllable clipped and full of blame. "Central Park. Bow Bridge. Now. Bring a car."

There was a click and the dial tone rang through the empty air, leaving Jace—for one of the first times in his life—utterly speechless.

**I have a bit of a dilemma. So, I could end this in a couple more chapters (say 5 or 6) or I could introduce a plot motivator and get a good 10 or 11 new chapters. If I keep it short, things will work out sooner, but if I make it longer, than there will be more opportunity for fluff (and consequently more opportunity for heartbreak). I'm going to leave it up to you readers. Review and tell me what you want. **


	13. The Hand You're Dealt

**This is a little confusing. I did not think it out well. This chapter takes place after Magnus' dream, but before the scene at the Institute. It will make more sense after you read it. I hope.**

**Sorry this took a while. It's too hot to sit in my room and type. And my brother wouldn't let me use his computer.**

**So far "longer" is winning by a few votes. Since it's so close, I'm going to let you guys keep voting. Convince me! For another chapter, it could go either way. This story now has the most reviews of any Alec/Magnus fic! Yay!**

**Disclaimer: I only own Nerissa. Unfortunately.**

"_But then, shall I never get any older than I am now? That'll be a comfort, one way -- never to be an old woman -- but then -- always to have lessons to learn!" —Alice in Wonderland_

Magnus didn't know what he expected to find at Bow Bridge. All he knew was what he _did_ find.

The sky was rich and dark as velvet, sprinkled with stars and wispy gray clouds. The moon was slightly more than half full, the shape of a football. The trees swayed gently in the cool breeze, their branches like skeletal hands waving, their leaves crinkling like old paper.

The river sloshed along beneath his feet, licks of icy foam leaping up to play with his fingers. His footsteps rang, like the solemn tolling of church bells. _Clang, clang, clang._

Suddenly a ghostly figure appeared at the other end of the bridge, making Magnus' heart skip a beat. It was a girl, dressed all in white, with long blond hair turned scintillating silver by the moon. She raced towards him, her hair flying out like a banner behind her. Her footsteps made no sound.

"Nerissa?" Magnus asked, looking over her shoulder at the woods. There was nothing there. _Yet_.

"Magnus!" she gasped, coming to a stop a few feet away. Stumbling, her hand reached out to grasp the railing. She screamed and let go, a red weal drawn across her palm, welling blood. "Iron," she grimaced, bunching her hand into a fist. "I was afraid you would not come."

"I almost didn't," Magnus said, frowning as blood bubbled up between her clenched fingers, making twirling lines like crimson rings. "What's going on?"

"There is no time to explain," she said, her eyes darting back and forth. There was a deep cut along her cheek, dripping blood onto her dress and arms. "Here, take this." She shoved a bloodstained crystal bottle into his hand. Inside it swam pale, rainbow-shot liquid.

"What is it?" he asked, holding it up so that it caught the light.

"I stole it from the Queen's chambers." Magnus looked at Nerissa with a newfound respect.

He shook the bottle experimentally. Nerissa glanced back towards the woods. "What does it do?" he asked, following her gaze. There was still no one there.

She looked back at him, and her dark eyes glowed. "It will make you mortal."

Magnus' hand tightened on the bottle. "Mortal?" He half-choked on the word.

Nerissa rolled her eyes and gave him a withering look. "I did not stutter." Then her face softened. "Yes, mortal. You will be a mundane."

He ran through a list of responses before he simply spat out, "Why?"

"Do you really have to ask?" She smiled, a sad, heartbreaking smile. "I am giving you the chance I never had."

"But, I—"

Nerissa's eyes went wide and she held up a hand, silencing him. "Do not speak," she hissed, and her head tilted towards the trees. Magnus heard just the faintest of rustlings. "Go, flee."

Magnus started to take a step back, and then stopped. He gestured to the bottle. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Thank me by giving him all you have to give." The smile touched her eyes for just a second. "Love him, Magnus. Bring a little bit of right back into the world." Nerissa half-turned and her lips fell into a frown. "And running wouldn't hurt either."

"What about you?" he asked.

"I am through with running. With this world. It's given me nothing but pain. The guilt of what I did, it tore at me, fixing me to the physical world." She waved her hand at him, at the potion in his hand. "Now I can rest in peace."

Magnus was confused. "But faeries don't die."

Shrugging, Nerissa swept her hair back from her face. "We can fade. We become shadows, memories, dreams. Drifting on the edges of existence. It is easier than this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am postive." And sure enough, the edges of her figure began to blur, like an old photograph bleached by the sun. "Now go, Magnus, before everything comes to nothing." Just as the knights came running onto the path, Nerissa disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the gleam of her smile. _Just like the Cheshire Cat._

"You! Stop!" called the leafy-haired knight, pointing with his bow.

"So articulate!" Magnus yelled back. And then he did the smart thing. He tucked the bottle inside his pocket and ran like hell.

Branches flew past on either side, swiping across his face, gouging shallow scratches in his cheeks. Leaves fluttered through the air and landed in his hair, sticking to the gel residue. The potion in his hand sloshed violently against its crystal prison, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow.

He knew the faerie knights were behind him. Even if he couldn't hear their footsteps, he knew they were there. He didn't know how he knew. He just did. And that was enough to keep him running.

Magnus burst out onto the path, his boots slapping thunderously against the smooth asphalt. Breath wheezed in and out of his lungs, his throat burning. His legs ached, his eyes stung.

The park was deserted except for a dark figure walking in the opposite direction. Right towards the knights. _Too bad for him,_ Magnus thought, and weaved not-so-nimbly around him. The air smelled like blood, sweat, and citrus soap. _Alec_. Magnus screeched to a stop.

The figure turned, a pale face wreathed in curly dark hair. The sweater and jeans he wore were the color of ink. He would've looked like an extension of the sky had he not blotted out the stars. "Magnus?" It was undoubtedly him. _Alec._

"Alec?" Magnus hissed. His voice was scratchy and faint. "Run!" At the edge of the forest the two knights appeared, their sickly purple armor shimmering against the trees. Instinct told Magnus to run. So he did.

"Magnus! Wait!" Alec called, and Magnus forced himself to stop and turn. Alec was looking at him with pleading eyes, his head cocked to the side. Absently, Magnus wondered what he was doing in Central Park this late at night. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was. And the knights were_ coming their way_.

"Get out of here! It's not safe!" Magnus longed to wrap the Shadowhunter in his arms and tell him he was sorry, but there was no time.

"Wait!" Alec said, jogging up to him. Magnus put his hands against the boy's chest, keeping an arm's length between them. It took all his self-control not to let his hands slide up and over Alec's shoulders, pulling him closer so Magnus could… _No._ _There's no time._

"Ale—" Magnus started.

He was cut off by the press of Alec's lips against his. Caught off guard, Magnus found himself kissing him back, his hands reaching up to wind in the Shadowhunter's hair of their own accord. He didn't tell them what to do. They already knew.

Alec's hands danced down his back, lingering against the nubs of his spine. Magnus flinched and closed the last of the distance between them, feeling the beat of Alec's heart through his shirt.

How could he have given this up? How could he have walked away? How? This was all he wanted. This was everything. He needed it. He needed _him_.

Magnus would have stood there kissing Alec forever. He wanted to. But fate doesn't ask what you want. It doesn't give a shit.

Alec broke away with a gasp. His eyes went wide; his irises rolling back in his head, leaving only heavily veined whites. Sweat beaded on his pale skin, gathering in the folds of his forehead. His fingers dug into Magnus' shoulders, his nails carving shallow half-moons into the warlock's skin.

"ALEC!" Magnus yelled, shaking him. Something hard and cold pricked against his stomach. Looking down, Magnus saw the tip of a knife poking through Alec's shirt. Red blood welled around the blade like a rose blossom; it's edges jagged and spreading.

Alec slumped forward, his jaw slack. "I love you," he whispered, and then collapsed against Magnus' chest, streaking the warlock's jacket with blood. Unprepared, Magnus' arms went slack, letting Alec fall to the ground with a sickeningly dull thump.

_No. No. No. No._ He might've whispered the words, or he might have just thought them. He didn't know. _No. No. No. No. _Like a mantra. _No. No. No. No. _Like if he said the word enough times, Alec would get up and smile back at him. _No. No. No. No. _Like Tinkerbell. _I do believe in fairies, I do, I do._

_No. No. No. No._

"ALEC!" Magnus screamed, dropping to his knees. He ran his fingers over Alec's neck and wrists, searching for a pulse. He found it finally, weak and fluttering.

Icy metal pressed against his neck. Twisting discreetly, Magnus found himself looking up at the green haired knight, the moon lighting up the stray locks of his hair dull silver, like an angel's halo. Magnus thought horns would've been more appropriate. "On your feet warlock," he said, his voice as sharp and frozen as the sword he held to Magnus' throat.

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Magnus flipped open his cell phone and tapped in the first number that came to mind. _Jace_. He answered on the first ring with a click and a static wheeze of breath. "Shadowhunter. Central Park. Bow Bridge. Now. Bring a car." Hanging up, Magnus returned the now-bloodstained phone to his pocket, wincing as it clinked against the bottle.

"Up!" the knight commanded, but Magnus held up one finger. He ducked his head, leaning down close to whisper in Alec's ear.

"I love you Alec," he said, his heart racing against his ribcage, adrenaline pounding through his veins. _I won't lose him. I won't. I can't. _"Stay with me. Fight."

Magnus got to his feet and quick as a flash of lightning, shoved the knight backwards, putting himself between the faerie and Alec's limp form. The leaf-haired knight was nowhere to be seen. That couldn't be good.

Summoning the magic to his fingertips, Magnus ignored the ache that exploded inside his skull and let the sparks fountain from his beneath his nails. Gritting his teeth, he conjured a pair of axes from the shower of blue fire, the light of the streetlamp making the gilded edges glow and sparkle. The pain flared as he forced them to hover at shoulder height, making them sway back and forth to his whim. He didn't have long before his magic ran out. Jace had better hurry.

"Now," Magnus said, grinning like an idiot. It was a disturbing grin, filled with hate and madness. "Off with your head."

And he swung.

**I figured this fic needed an epic battle sequence, because I'm just a violent person like that. Long or short, this is the start of the climax, so there will be much action from here on out.**

**No one guessed the whole mortal thing. I kinda figured someone would considering the title. Oh well.**

**Don't kill me. Please? Kill me and you pretty much kill Alec yourself. **

**Anyone get the Tinkerbell thing? Lets all say it and bring Alec back to life. **_**I do believe in fairies, I do, I do.**_** Come on, someone tell me they got my lame joke.**

**REVIEW!**


	14. Fairest of Them All

**Longer won. By a LOT. So, I'm sorry to all those people who wanted shorter, I will do my very best so that it doesn't fade. **

**For people who were confused, Alec was stabbed by the faerie. Which is what drives Magnus off the figurative deep end.**

**The fight scene is a little shorter than I had planned, but if you want to blame someone, blame my stupid and sadistic muse that likes to watch me suffer from never-ending bouts of horrid writer's block.**

**Disclaimer: My name isn't Cassandra Clare. I don't pretend to own her characters.**

The faerie bled green. It was a bright, neon, acid type green, the kind of color Magnus would love to wear. Or, he would've under normal circumstances. As it was—drenched in a splattering of blood, some red, some green, some his, most not—the whole thing was a bit morbid and creepy.

Magnus was tiring fast. So it wasn't really much of a surprise when the magic faltered and failed, leaving him defenseless to the knight's furious downward stroke.

A slim figure slipped between Magnus and death. There was a pale flash and metal clanged against metal. The figure twisted and the sickly orange light caught his hair, making it sparkle dark gold. _Jace_. He moved with unnatural speed, his hands mere blurs as his angel blades met the faerie steel and the angel blades won, beating the knight back.

Magnus stumbled away, trying to catch his breath. His arms were lead weights sewn to the trunk of his torso, aching so deeply that his teeth shook in his gums with the effort of holding back screams. His magic was gone, just a dying spark as a reminder that he had ever had it in the first place.

Absently, he wondered if it wouldn't come back this time, if the sleeping beast had ran away for good. What would it be like, to not have magic ready to spring to his fingertips, to clean his house, make his food, heal the bruises he got when he was texting Alec and forgot the number of steps leading up to his apartment. It would be hard. He would survive—he'd learned enough in his nine centuries of life—but it would be hard. He'd start to age, grow hunched and withered until his life was nothing but a memory and he slept under the ground, buried in dirt and flowers, maggots feasting away at his skin for eternity… Eew.

But there was Alec. If every day he stepped closer to the end was spent with Alec, it would be worth it. Knowing that the Shadowhunter was his completely, that he would never outgrow him, because he would grow alongside him. It wasn't preferable, but it was worth it. _So_ worth it.

But they had to survive this first.

So, Magnus shoved aside the pain and forced the slowly dissolving ax to meld into a shimmering blue dome, shielding Alec from the world. _Like Snow White._ Somehow, Magnus doubted a kiss would wake Alec from his slumber. And even if it would, Magnus doubted he qualified as a Prince Charming.

He turned to Jace—who had been joined by Isabelle wielding her long, twining, bloodstained whip—and frowned. The knight was holding his own against the two Shadowhunters. Of course, he'd probably had a good millennia or two of practice, but…still. It was _Jace._ That kid breathed violence.

"TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!" Magnus screamed, gritting his teeth. His knees wobbled and he pressed his palms down on them to hold them still. It didn't work.

Jace glanced over his shoulder and grinned at him, though the smile didn't touch his eyes. "Sorry," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I couldn't decide between the Porsche and the Mustang."

Magnus snarled and his legs folded underneath him, the asphalt scratching his skin through his jeans and banging up the backs of his hands. He swore, and the magic wavered but he forced it to hold its shape. "If we survive this," he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

Jace laughed, and through the blood pounding in his ears, Magnus heard Isabelle yelp. At least, he assumed it was Isabelle, as it was high and rather shrill. Opening his eyes, Magnus saw Isabelle step back, clutching her arm, blood welling between her fingers. Jace kept fighting, pausing only to give Magnus a withering look. "It was a joke, calm down."

Magnus didn't calm down. "Slit your throat and let you drown in your own blood."

Jace made a face. "Now that's just disgusting." And then he moaned, and the seraph blade slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground with a sound like shattering glass. Blood splattered his arm and jacket, making it impossible to tell what had happened.

The knight grinned coolly, and raised his sword to kill.

"Jace!" Isabelle cried, darting forward. But Magnus knew she wouldn't be fast enough. No one could help him now.

As the sword fell, shining like a strip of moonlight, Jace didn't even try to move. Maybe he was in shock. Maybe the pain was too much. Maybe he didn't want to move. Maybe he didn't know he should. But all that mattered was that he didn't shift an inch.

Suddenly a chorus of bone-chilling howls split the night in two. Magnus groaned and ground his jaw against the terrible sound, smashing his eyes shut. It didn't help. When he opened them, the howling had stopped and the faerie had vanished. Gone. Poof.

Jace just stood there by himself, looking like an idiot. Magnus couldn't help but enjoy that moment in whatever small way he could.

Isabelle sighed with relief, slinging her whip through a loop on her belt. "He's gone."

Jace unfroze with a jerky shake of his head. "Never assume a faerie is dead," he said, clutching at his side. "They're like cockroaches, you squish them and walk away, and then, two hours later—BAM—your pants start wriggling."

"While this is all very entertaining," Magnus said, letting the magic shielding Alec fade into nothingness. "We don't have time for it."

And it was like they saw Alec for the first time. Isabelle gasped, and Jace just stared in openmouthed horror. Magnus refused to look at the limp body beside him. He didn't need any reminders.

"Someone get him up," he said, pushing himself to his feet. He shook, but managed to stay upright. "He has to get back to the Institute."

Isabelle rushed to her brother's side, leaning down to sweep his bloodied hair aside. She was starting to cry. Jace just kept staring.

"Heal him," Isabelle said, her voice choked with tears. She looked up at him, fragile hope in her dark eyes. He hated to shatter it.

"I can't," Magnus said, shrugging. "My magic—it's gone. I won't get it back for a long time."

Isabelle's face fell in minute increments. "But—"

"Izzy," Jace said, kneeling down on the other side of Alec. "We've got to get him back." Gently—with a kind of tenderness reserved for children who've scraped their knees—he lifted away her hands and wrapped Alec in his arms, standing slowly, shifting around the boy's lanky form.

Alec looked so small. So still. So…_broken._ Magnus had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop the tears that threatened.

"He's still alive," Jace declared, his voice strangely detached. When he looked up, there was an emptiness in his eyes that made Magnus shiver. "But we have to hurry."

Jace led Isabelle and Magnus to the street, where a beaten up van splattered with mud and worse waited beside the curb. It looked ready to keel over and die.

Magnus couldn't help himself. "What happened to the Porsche?"

"It committed suicide," Jace said, trying to smile. The humor in his voice fell flat. "I stole this one from outside a McDonalds on 9th Avenue."

Magnus snorted derisively as Isabelle slid open the back door, revealing an open space strewn with fast-food wrappers and empty paper cups. There were only two seats. "If you're going to perform grand larceny, at least do it in style."

"Hey, it's two o' clock in the morning," Jace defended, lowering Alec onto the floor. Blood began to pool around him in a little puddle. Grimacing, Jace slid off his jacket, followed by his relatively clean T-shirt. The scars feathering his skin shimmered faintly. "We were just lucky some fat cat-loving old man woke up dreaming about Quarter-Pounders." Tossing the shirt to Isabelle, he put the jacket back on and jumped into the driver's seat. Isabelle got into the back and held her brother's arm, pressing the T-shirt to the gaping wound in his stomach. Magnus followed suit, wrapping his trembling fingers around Alec's disturbingly still hand.

"How do you know he was cat-loving?" Magnus asked, just to keep them talking. The silence was tight and cloying, like he was suffocating.

Jace turned the key and the engine rumbled to life with a roar and a sharp crack of backfire. Pulling out into the street, Jace nearly totaled a Miata, yanking on the wheel at the last possible second. "Driver's license is in the glove compartment," he said, and from what Magnus could see of his reflection in the windshield, it looked like he was concentrating hard.

Magnus raised his eyebrows, more out of habit than anything. They lurched over a pothole and Alec whimpered. Silently, Magnus prayed for Jace to hit the gas. "So?"

The boy laughed without humor. "Trust me, if you could see this guy, you wouldn't be asking."

A thought struck him. "Speaking of licenses," he said, frowning. "Why in God's name isn't Clary driving?"

It looked like Jace rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, because she just recently learned how to astral project." He spun around in the seat, glaring at Magnus, nearly taking out a fire hydrant. "DOES IT LOOK LIKE SHE"S HERE?"

Magnus cocked his head to the side. "Testy."

"He needs his naps," said Isabelle, speaking for the first time. Her voice was quiet, strained. Tears dripped from her chin to mingle with the blood on Alec's shirt. Magnus turned away. "Otherwise, he wakes up all fussy. Clary went to Luke's for help." She smiled just a tiny bit, and Magnus did the same, thinking of the ear-splitting howls. "And I'm pretty sure he saved all our asses."

"Isabelle," Jace said, very calm and controlled. _Bipolar asshole, _Magnus thought. "I hold all of our lives in my very unpracticed hands. Not pissing me off would probably be wise."

Closing his eyes, Magnus tightened his grip on Alec's hand. "Please tell me this is not the first time you've driven a car."

"It's not the first time," he said, too quickly, too smoothly, too everything. Magnus was sure he was lying.

"Second?" he asked.

"_Third_," Jace hissed, flipping on the turn signal with an annoyed flick of his wrist. "Thank-you-very-much."

"And how many times have you crashed?"

For once, Jace smiled and it touched his eyes, making them sparkle gold. "Well, third time's the charm, right?"

Suddenly his eyes went wide and he hauled the steering wheel to one side, sending them careening over the curb. "Shit!" he yelled, his head cracking against the window. There was blood on the glass. Blood everywhere.

As they spun out, Magnus thought he saw a figure with green hair standing in the middle of the road.

Isabelle was thrown against one wall, Magnus to the other, his hand ripped from Alec's. He hit with a sickening crunch and deep steely ring that echoed in his ears and made his head ache. Isabelle screamed. Alec was rolling away, towards the slightly ajar back doors…

"No!" Magnus screamed, and threw himself at the boy, hooking his fingers in the lip of his collar. He might've screamed Alec's name, or he might've just thought it.

And then his forehead came down hard on the floor.

And everything went black.

**So, tell me what you think. Seriously, every time I read a review my bitch of a muse loses a little ground. Help me improve the random crap I dare to post as an actual story.**

**And if you're confused, chances are it will all become clear later on. That's what I'm banking on.**


	15. World of Gray

**My muse is an evil son of bitch. For all you writers, have you ever had a perfectly good idea that made sense and worked with your plot, only to finish writing it and realize you typed out something completely different than you planned, and now have a new plot twist to go with it? It's already happened in this story twice.**

**And now it's happened again. I was powerless to resist.**

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever claimed to own The Mortal Instruments.**

There was smoggy gray sky above. There was rough gray sidewalk below. There were hulking steel and cement warehouses squatting along the road, empty and gutted like Jack-o-Lanterns. And there was shimmering gray rain all around, falling from above, splashing down below, and running through the roads.

Everything was devoid of color, blending into the background. Everything except the blood that covered Jace's chest like a second skin, and wound down to the ground, mingling with the rain and turning pale pink.

The world was strangely quiet. There was noise, but it was distant, muffled, as if cotton was smashed into his ears. Distantly, he heard someone screaming in Spanish, a baby crying.

Jace tried to sit up but pain washed through his side, forcing him to groan and shift back, pillowing his head against the collar of his jacket. The rain had washed away most of the blood and dirt, but the leather was still torn to bits, and even singed in a few places. His skin tingled where the fat drops of water landed on his bare chest, welling in the indents of his abs.

He tried to remember how he'd gotten here. There was nothing but blank darkness.

Suddenly, his phone rang, cutting through the metaphorical cotton. Groaning, he felt about for his pocket, fingers running over the familiar bump against his thigh. Sliding it out, he flipped it open and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, wincing at the sound of his voice. He sounded weak. Hurt. He _was_ hurt. But no one needed to know that.

"Jace?" It was Clary. And she was worried. Wonderful. "Thank God, I was so worried." _No shit, really?_ "Where are you? What happened?"

"I'm not sure. Hold on." He tucked the phone in the space between his neck and his chin, feeling every bump and scratch as he swallowed. He was sure it hadn't been that beat up before. Gritting his teeth, he pushed off the wet cement, letting out a low moan when his stomach muscles tried to clench. The phone dropped to the sidewalk, skidding away with a metallic clatter.

"Jace?" Clary's voice was quiet, or it was from such a distance. Had the phone been to his ear he probably would've gone deaf.

"Hold on," he hissed, and when the speaker went silent, he knew she'd heard.

Jace looked around, and saw a place completely abandoned. There were no cars in the street, no teenagers smoking in the alleys, no faces in the glassless windows. There was nothing.

He was lying beside a chain-link fence—warped and rusted with time—that circled a broken-down warehouse, the cement painted with a scattering of neon colored tags, faded with age. Rats scurried through the rotted lumber visible through the door.

Using his hands, he scooted over to lean against the fence. He reached for the phone and brushed away the water, hoping it would still work.

"Clary?" he asked.

"Jace! What happened?" Her voice was distorted but otherwise unaffected.

"I—"

She cut him off. "Did you find Alec? Luke said there was trouble."

_Alec?_ And it all came back to him in a rushing torrent. Magnus' call, rushing to the park, the fight with the faerie knight, Alec hurt, arguing with Magnus, Isabelle crying, driving, someone in the road, people screaming and then…darkness.

"There was a car accident," he said, looking around him again. He didn't remember anything of this place. And where was the car? Where was Alec? Isabelle? Magnus?

Someone groaned from inside the warehouse.

Jace jumped despite himself, and got to his feet, using the fence to prop himself up. "Hold on a second Clary, I think someone's here." He slipped the still-open phone into the mangled pocket of his jacket and stepped quietly through a gap in the links, flakes of rust coming off on his hair. A strip of broken metal prodded his throbbing side but he bit back the yelp that rose in his throat.

He had no weapons, but he balled his hands into fists as he stepped through the gaping doorway. And stood there frozen.

Isabelle lay in a sliver of weak light filtering through the rafters, her arms splayed, her blood-hardened hair spread out in a crimson-and-ebony fan circling her head. Blood splattered her torn clothes, and her skin was deathly white.

"Isabelle!" he yelled, and she twitched, her face flickering with momentary pain before smoothing over once more. Dropping down beside her, Jace gripped her arm, and his fingers came away sticky with half-congealed blood. There was a ragged gash running the length of her forearm, the tattered sleeve of her shirt stiff with blood and gore. The edges of the cut were tinged green. "Isabelle!"

Jace shook her, and her eyes fluttered open. Lines appeared on her forehead and around her mouth, sweat gathering on her cheeks. Her eyes were glazed over.

"Alec?" she asked, and her voice shook.

Jace patted himself down, searching for his stele. All he found was the still humming phone. He lifted it to his ear.

"I'll call you back." And he hung up, cutting off Clary's protest.

"Alec?" Isabelle asked again, a hint of light flickering behind her eyes, turning them from matte black to coffee, for just the briefest of seconds.

"Just hold on," Jace said, glancing around for something that might help. Anything.

Isabelle squeezed his arm, hard. "Alec?" Her voice had grown in strength and authority, trembling only slightly.

Jace sighed and peeled off his jacket, tearing what was left into long thin strips. He wrapped them around the wound, frowning as Isabelle gasped, her mouth opening into a little 'o'.

"Okay," he said, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "I'll go find him and be right back."

Isabelle smiled.

Jace searched every inch of the warehouse. He walked around outside—going as far as he could without endangering Isabelle. He stood in the rain until the blood was washed from his skin and his hair clung to his forehead.

Alec—and Magnus—were nowhere to be seen.

**There is a side story here. One I **_**did not plan**_**, but one that sprang to life anyway. It would probably add about 5 chapters to the fic if told in full. Or, I could just write the end result and publish what happens as a separate story, seeing as this is about Alec/Magnus and not Jace or Isabelle. But, once again, I'm leaving it up to you guys. Tell me which you would prefer.**


	16. Never Ever

**So. Much. Writer's block. Well, less writer's block, more I-got-a-new-idea-for-my-novel-and-I-really-really-really-want-to-write-it. But you guys are lucky and I managed to type this out. Even though it's not very good and probably riddled with typos. (I wrote it one handed while eating a piece of pizza.)**

**I decided that Jace and Isabelle's side story will be included, but POVs will switch around every chapter or two, so you don't spend too long with them.**

**Disclaimer: My name's still not Cassandra Clare. I only wish. **

"_His wings are gray and trailing, Azrael, Angel of Death, And yet the souls that Azrael brings Across the dark and cold, Look up beneath those folded wings, And find them lined with gold" —Robert Gilbert Welsh quotes_

Magnus lay awake on the ground for a long time. But he kept his eyes closed, lingering precariously on the edge of sleep, keeping himself just enough in his dream so that he wouldn't realize where he was. Because he didn't want to know. Even without remembering everything that had happened, there was enough animal instinct in his brain to tell him that something was terribly wrong. And he didn't want things to be wrong. So, he kept his eyes closed.

If he kept his eyes closed he could fool himself into believing that he was at home, bundled up in his bed, the fragile warmth he felt radiating from the figure beside him nothing more than Alec curling up against his chest after a long night.

The deep ache that ran through his bones didn't mean anything. Neither did the smooth surface poking him in the side through the material of his jacket. Or the fact that his head felt like it was splitting open. Meaningless. All of it.

Alec twitched gently, his wayward curly hair shifting to brush over Magnus' nose. Was he waking up? If he was, Magnus probably should too. But the muffled warning going off in the back of his head kept him under. Asleep was good. Asleep was safe.

"Magnus?" Alec asked, his voice so raspy and fragile that Magnus winced even half-asleep. "Are you okay? Wake up Magnus."

And he couldn't stay asleep any longer.

Magnus opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Alec's pale face, blurry and ringed with shadows. As his vision cleared, he couldn't stop a little gasp from escaping his lips.

The boy's skin was layered with blood and filth, a shallow cut running across his forehead. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat, and there were dark bags hanging beneath his eyes.

Alec sighed with relief, a horrible wheezing sound that made Magnus want to cover his ears. But he didn't. "You're okay," Alec said, and Magnus couldn't keep his eyebrows from jumping up.

"You're worried about _me_?" Magnus said, giving the Shadowhunter an incredulous look that had are-you-freaking-kidding-me written all over it.

Alec stared at him as if he'd suddenly grown a third eye. "Of course I was worried about you," he whispered, shifting slightly. Suddenly Magnus was hyper-aware of his closeness. Every line of their bodies were locked together like two fitting pieces of a puzzle. Somehow, Magnus doubted they had started out like this. Had he rolled closer to Alec in his sleep? He must've.

Alec winced, pain flickering over his features, gone as quickly as it had come, like snuffing out a candle.

"Scoot over," Magnus said, forcing the words out. He didn't want Alec to move away from him. It felt so right lying there together, just having him near made the world turn in the right direction. "Let me look."

Alec complied, trying to hide the grimace that twisted his lips as he shuffled backwards, using his hands to push himself along the smooth stone floor. They were in a small cave, lying beside a murky puddle that gathered in a shallow depression. Every few seconds a drop of water would fall from the ceiling and break the pool's surface, making ripples lap against Magnus' toes. The only light in the room came from a furry mess of phosphorescent moss that coated the craggy walls, glowing cool, eerie colors. Neon blue, sour apple green.

Magnus sat up, and with gentle fingers pushed back what was left of Alec's shirt. He couldn't hold back the gasp.

"It's bad," Alec said, his tone impossibly light and joking and completely out of place in the grim cavern. "Isn't it?"

"No," Magnus lied quickly, letting the scrap of fabric fall back to cover the gaping, ragged wound that wept pus and blood. But it didn't help; he could still see it pulsing behind his eyelids each time he blinked. "Not really."

"You're lying," Alec said, leaning back to lay his head against the rock, pillowed by his lank hair. "I can see it on your face."

Magnus shrugged, pressing his lips together. He wouldn't cry. "Can you blame me?"

Alec shook his head, his skull scraping against the ground. "I never blamed you. Even when every part of me screamed that I hated you, it wasn't true." He paused, as if to add dramatic effect. It worked. "I hated myself."

"_Why?_" Magnus asked, scrunching up his face.

"For causing you pain," he said simply. "I saw it every time you looked at me, heard it every time you spoke. You were dying from the inside out, and it was all because of me."

"I was the one that ended it," Magnus argued, pulling his legs up underneath him and fisting his hands in his lap. The pain of his nails digging into his palms helped clear his head.

"But I made it necessary."

"Fate made it necessary," Magnus shot back, the words quick and inadvertently tipped with acid. He made up for it by pushing aside Alec's hair, letting the pads of his fingertips linger on the ridge of his cheekbone.

"I don't believe in fate," Alec whispered, his lashes casting long dark shadows over his cheeks that flickered as the light from the moss pulsed erratically.

"You should," Magnus said with a smile that refused to touch his eyes. "It makes a wonderful scapegoat."

Alec lay there for a long time, watching the water in the puddle jump and roil. "How long do I have?" he said finally, his blue eyes flashing in the dark. For a split second, they were the same unnatural color as the moss.

Magnus knew wounds, he'd been in too many wars not to. He knew Alec had an hour, two if he was lucky. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"A while," he said instead, careful not to blink. People blink when they lie.

The look on Alec's face said he didn't believe the kind words for a second. But what could he do about it? Nothing. He could do nothing but lay there in the cold and the dark and wait for death to claim him. Not a very epic ending. He'd always imagined he would die struggling against some unassailable odds, fighting to the very end. He figured he'd die alongside his fellow Shadowhunters, or maybe his death would save them, and he would be remembered as a hero.

He thought he was going to die years ago, fighting the Greater Demon Abbadon. But Magnus had yanked him back to life at the last second. This time was different. Magnus was still the one by his side, but there was nothing he could do. This time, Alec _knew_ he was going to die. And the only comfort he found was in the fact that he could reach out and hold the warlock's shaking hand.

The choking sound that escaped Magnus' lips made Alec smile sadly. He'd rather die this way. Here, in the dark, sitting beside the one person he had ever truly loved. The only person he wanted.

Magnus turned his head away, his eyes glowing in the dark, the color of amber, of the sun. Alec remembered when every inch of him used to sparkle as brightly as the stars, but it was just his eyes now, rimmed with beading tears. "Alec," he started, and his voice was so soft Alec almost couldn't hear the hitch. "I—"

"Shh," Alec said, cutting him off. The warlock looked at him, and Alec stared back, refusing to blink. But he broke first anyhow. "I love you Magnus," he said, and watched as Magnus bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his face crinkling. "Always have."

The words that followed were a breath, but just as strong as if he'd screamed them to the sky. "I love you too." Alec tried to remember the first time he'd heard Magnus tell him that, but the memory was just a hazy blood-filled blur, filled with smoke and demons and fire. They were in Alicante, but, where, when? Why couldn't he remember?

The world began to smear at the edges, the already dim room slowly engulfed by thick, menacing shadows. The pain humming through his veins ebbed just enough to let him tighten his grip on Magnus' fingers. Darkness ate away at his vision, until all he could see was the hauntingly familiar shape of Magnus' worried face, framed by limp dark hair that hung down to tickle Alec's cheeks, engulfing him like wings. He looked beautiful. An angel, come to bear him away. To heaven? To hell? It didn't matter.

"Magnus?" he whispered, feeling the lines and whorls of the warlock's palm, hating the fact that he could feel his hold loosening with each second. He didn't want this last connection tying him to life to be severed, even if it helped nothing.

"Yes?" Magnus' face began to fade, until all that assured Alec he still existed was the glimmer of his golden eyes and the pressure of his hand. And even that was disappearing.

"Don't let go," he breathed, letting his eyes drift closed, because the effort of keeping them open was just too much. The pain became a dull ache throbbing at his abdomen, keeping in time with his fragile heartbeat that he could hear pumping through his shirt. _Thump…thump…thump. _So slow and weak. It scared him almost more than the darkness that hid behind his lids.

Magnus' words were the last things he heard before the black claimed him. "Never ever."

**Sorry if it's more out of character than usual, I've been reading The Hunger Games (one of the best books EVER) and I keep trying to write from Katniss' point of view.**

**Just curious, does anyone else see what I see in the quote up there?**


	17. Last Hope

**I apologize profusely for the delay, my life has just been really, **_**really**_** insane lately.**

**And no one saw the things I was talking about (though many got the meaning). So, I'll just tell you. Azrael. Raziel. They're **_**almost**_** anagrams. Random, I know, but that was the first thing my mind saw.**

**REVIEW. Please?**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Cassandra Clare. If I were, would I be spending my time writing fanfic?**

"_Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life, making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious." - Rabindranath Tagore_

Alec wasn't dead. Not yet. He would be soon, but for those last few moments, Magnus would pretend. He would pretend that the love of his life was simply asleep, and would wake up soon, asking what was for breakfast. He would pretend that he would feel the so familiar touch of his lips one more time. He would pretend that he would see the deep clear blue of his eyes again.

But it was a lie. And he knew it.

Magnus didn't want to cry. He hated it, the feeling of the tears on his cheeks, the stinging that lanced through his eyes, and the knowledge that he was unable to stop. Because he knew if he started crying now, he would never stop. Not ever.

He was sitting in the middle of the cave, squeezing Alec's frail hand, forcing back tears, when he heard the crackling. His head snapped up in time to see a section of the wall fade away, letting pure white light filter into the room, making Alec's skin look pale as paper and throwing his wound into terrible brilliance. A pair of figures stood in the improvised doorway, their shadows stretching menacingly over the ground, dancing and flickering as the light pulsed.

Magnus' lip curled back over his teeth, like a dog getting ready to growl. "Bastard," he hissed, recognizing the green-haired knight standing to the left, his face ordered and impassive and beautiful. Magnus hated him more than he thought he could ever hate anyone.

"On your feet," he said, his voice high and musical as the chime of a silver spoon striking porcelain. And yet somehow terrifying and authoritative. "Warlock."

"You son of a bitch," Magnus whispered, only slightly aware that he was crushing Alec's hand, the tips of his painted nails digging into his skin. Alec was beyond caring. "You did this to him!" Suddenly he was on his feet and screaming, Alec's arm flopping to the ground, scarred with five pink crescent moons, like tiny Marks. "You _killed_ him!"

The other figure took a silent step forward, beckoning with one pale hand. The leaf-haired knight. "Come with me," he said, his voice like branches rustling with the wind, crackling and rough. But Magnus had eyes only for Alec's murderer.

"I'll kill you," he whispered, grinding his teeth together. "I'll kill you."

The knight's face twitched, but not with anything resembling fear. It almost looked like he was…annoyed. "The Queen wishes to see you," he said, with just the slightest hint of inflection to color his dead voice. He nodded towards Alec's prone form. "Both of you."

"I don't give a shit," Magnus said, refusing to look Alec's way. Because if he saw the Shadowhunter's pallid face, devoid of any of the animations he had come to recognize so easily, he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears. And he wouldn't show the knights weakness. "The Queen can go screw herself."

The green-haired knight sighed, and gestured to his companion. The leaf-haired one bobbed his head so slightly it almost didn't count as a nod, and then—in a move so blindingly fast that Magnus found himself stumbling backwards from shock—bent down, lifting Alec and tossing him over his shoulder no more carefully than had the boy been a sack of flour.

"No!" Magnus yelled, stepping forward, only to find his path blocked by the green-haired knight. A strong hand wrapped around his upper arm, slowly tightening it's grip like a blood pressure cuff. Magnus tried to pull away but the hand held him still, making his nerves scream out in protest. "Go away! Get off of him!"

But the knights ignored him, ferrying the pair of them through the door and into a room that was becoming far too familiar.

The knight threw Magnus to the ground, where he fell to his hands and knees, scraping the skin of his palms. Above him, the Queen smiled lazily at the knight.

"Thank you Uaithne," she said, in her painfully lovely voice that had mesmerized stronger men than Magnus. Only the demonic blood flowing through his veins kept him safe from her power.

Alec slumped to the ground beside Magnus, his eyes closed, his limbs twisted in a way that had to be painful. If he could still feel pain at all. The Queen nodded her acknowledgement of the leaf-haired knight. "And you too, Eoghan."

The Queen rose from her couch in a single fluid movement, her pale blue and silver gown giving her the appearance of a burbling stream, set off only by her lurid scarlet hair that bounced languidly down her back. Her courtiers were scattered around the room, unmoving, like horrible and beautiful statues, only their eyes twitching as they followed their Queen's actions.

"Bane," she said, looking down at him, clearly enjoying his subservient pose. He hated it, but some unseen force held him still. "How lovely to see you."

"Bitch," he hissed, just loud enough to be sure everyone in the room could hear. Normally he wouldn't dare be so bold, but today all bets were off. He no longer cared what happened to him. He might even welcome a knife to the head. It would stop the aching of his heart at least.

To his ever-growing surprise, she simply smiled, cocking her head to the side. "Not feeling very complimentary today," she said, raising her eyebrows in a manner less questioning and more curious. "Are you?"

"Go fuck off," he said, bunching his hands into fists. How good it would feel to swing, to feel his fingers connect with her flawless skin, to feel her jaw crunch, to wipe that awful smirk from her face. It physically hurt to stop himself.

Uaithne stepped forward, bringing his blade to half-draw, but the Queen held up a long-fingered hand, waving him back. He fell back into place with a look close to disappointment. Magnus was sure the knight's expression was mirrored on his own features.

The Queen turned back to Magnus, a dangerous gleam in her eye. "That's not the way you talk to the only person who could save him,"—she gestured to Alec with a look of contempt that she didn't try at all to hide—"is it?"

Save him? The words echoed in Magnus' head, his ears ringing with the sound of them. He felt his eyes widen and his lips part, all the air leaving his lungs in one slow breath. Save him? Was it possible? Could it be possible? Could she save him?

Magnus ducked his head with forced respect, pressing his lips together to hold back the things he wished to say, the names he wished to call her. Instead, he whispered, "My Queen." From her wicked smile, Magnus was sure every single creature had heard.

"That's better," she cooed, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. It rippled with sparkling candlelight, glowing vivid orange-red. "Now, what will you offer me?" The Queen bent down, like an adult talking to a child. She reached out to him, her fingers almost unbearably icy against his skin.

"Shall I capture your smile?" She pulled the corner of his mouth, forcing his lips into a strained half-grin. He shuddered at her touch.

"Bottle your tears?" She stroked the creases of his lids, tracing the shape of his eyes, brushing away the budding tears. Her fingertips shimmered wetly.

"Make you beg?" She seized his chin, forcing him to look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes were a perfect clear blue, the color of her dress. _The same color as Alec's._ It was amazing how similar their eyes could look, but so different at the same time. Hers were filled with a mix of malevolence and cunning. Alec could never look so evil.

"Anything," Magnus whispered, feeling his throat throb against her freezing hand. It made his head ache. "I'll give you anything. If you'll just save him. Please. Anything."

"You would offer me anything," she said, irrepressible mischief in her voice. "To take what I will?"

"Yes," Magnus said, knowing that he was digging himself deeper into a hole that he would never be able to climb back out of, but not caring enough to stop. "Anything."

The spread of her grin was drawn-out, and so cruel Magnus felt his heart skip a beat. "Even your last hope?"

"_Take hope from the heart of man and you make him a beast of prey." -Ouida_

**I'm such a quote whore.**

**And just a reminder (because some people seemed confused), Magnus is still a warlock. He has yet to drink the potion Nerissa gave him. This will become a big freaking deal.**

**The knights finally have names! It's amazing how tiring it is to endlessly write "the green-haired knight" and "the leaf-haired knight". If anyone is confused which is which, Uaithne=Green knight and Eoghan=Leaf knight.**


	18. Courtesy of AT&T

**I'm sorry. This isn't an Alec/Magnus chapter. This isn't even a Jace and Isabelle chapter. No. To my ever-growing shame, this is a Clary chapter. I don't like Clary. She irks me. But for the future of this fic's plot, this chapter had to be included. And because I know I left you on a cliffy with Alec and Magnus, I will do my very best to get one of them uploaded early tomorrow. No promises though.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it.**

"_Troubles are a lot like people - they grow bigger if you nurse them." -Author Unknown_

Jace didn't call back. Three days passed and he didn't call back. Clary was getting worried.

"Stop pacing," Luke said from the couch, giving her a steely glare laced with parental warmth. Clary just pushed back the straggling lengths of her hair and spun on her heels. Luke sighed and folded the cover flap between the pages of the hardcover perched in his lap, keeping his place with fastidious care. "You're going to wear a hole in my floor."

"Why wouldn't he call back, Luke?" Clary asked, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, wrinkling it between her fingers before smoothing it back out. She turned to her stepfather with a pleading look, as if he could snap his fingers and Jace would appear out of thin air. Fathers were supposed to be able to make everything better. _He isn't your real father, _whispered the treacherous little part of her brain. _He is in all the ways that count,_ she snapped back, fully aware that she was arguing with herself. At least she wasn't doing it aloud. "He _always_ calls back."

"For the thirteenth time," Luke said, falling backwards, letting the squashy gray velour cradle his head, mussing his close-cropped hair. He looked as disheveled as always; all faded work jeans and messily buttoned shirts and crooked glasses. But he looked _happy_. Even considering the circumstances. "I have no idea. Why don't you call him?"

"I've tried!" Clary yelled, shaking her hands. "He doesn't answer the phone. Did I do something?"

Luke raised a single eyebrow her way, something she still could not do and still envied of people who could. "What could you have done?" he asked. "You haven't seen him for three days."

"I know, I just…" she paused mid-sentence, and a horrible, terrified look crept over her elfin features. "Do you think he's hurt?"

Setting his book on the coffee table, Luke scooted to the side and patted the space next to him. Clary sat down, bouncing slightly, as if she were a shark, who'd drown if it stopped swimming. "If it was anyone but Jace," Luke said, peering down at her over his glasses, in a way that was somehow comforting instead of condescending. "Yes, that's what I would assume." Clary's screwed her face up, pursing her lips and pulling her eyebrows together. Luke brushed back her hair and smiled sadly.

"But it _is_ Jace," he said. "And that kid would come away without a scratch from a fight with a tank."

It was a long moment before Clary spoke. "But then where is he?" Her voice was soft, afraid.

"Did you try calling the Institute?" Luke asked, trying not to show how worried he was himself. Jace had grown on him, despite all his sarcasm and arrogance and the fact that he was dating his stepdaughter. Not knowing where he was or if he was even alive made Luke anxious. But he wouldn't show it.

Clary's brow dropped, etching thick lines into her forehead. "No."

"Well you probably should," Luke said, shoving her shoulder playfully. He was reaching for her cell on the coffee table when the doorbell tolled. Tossing the slim silver phone into her lap, he rose to his feet. "I'll be right back." And he disappeared into the next room.

Clary dialed the well-memorized number and held the receiver to her ear, waiting for the series of rings to break and someone to answer. A minute passed. No one answered. "Luke, no one's picking up!" she called, wandering in the general direction of the front door. She heard people talking in low hushed voices.

"I think I have a good idea why," Luke said, suddenly appeared in the living room doorway, beckoning for her to follow. She walked through the familiar bookshelves, weaving around piles that stood in the aisles like leather and paper roadblocks.

When she got to the door, she just…stopped.

Robert and Maryse Lightwood stood on the stoop, dark coats pulled tight around their shoulders, their black hair turned faintly blue by the overhead lights, the faint wrinkles in their porcelain skin casting long shadows over their faces.

"Hello Clary," Robert said, the sound of her name in his voice strange and alien. She couldn't remember ever exchanging more than two words with this mountain of a man. He must've seen the surprise on her face, because his lips quirked in a faint smile.

"Maryse?" she asked, bracing herself against the doorframe, less from danger of falling and more for something to hold onto. "Robert? What…what're you doing here?"

"I thought…" Maryse said, and then her voice trailed off. She sounded like she'd been crying, her normally neat and tidy…well, everything, looked disheveled and unorganized. Her sweater lay askew beneath her jacket, her make-up smudged and running, her hair falling from its bun in bits and clumps. She looked like hell. "Do you know where my children are?"

Luke sighed and Clary couldn't help the start that ran up her spine. She hadn't realized he'd been standing that close behind her. "Come on inside," he said, sounding tired as he waved the couple over the threshold. "It's getting cold."

————————————————————————————————————

The despondent figures of Maryse and Robert Lightwood looked horribly out of place in the tiny living room, with it's mismatched furniture and cheery paintings and well-thumbed books scattered over the floor. Robert sat still as a statue, one hand resting on his wife's arm, his eyes somewhere else entirely. Maryse had her hands fisted in her lap, tears in her eyes. Luke and Clary stood across the room, leaning against the wall.

"Have you talked to any of them?" Robert asked, loathe to start the conversation—to say the words they were all thinking—but smart enough to realize that no one else would.

"I talked to Jace," Clary said, fingering her cell phone, flipping it open and closed again, as if the constant action might make it ring. "But all he said was that there was a car accident. Then he said he'd call me back and hung up. But he didn't call back." She looked between the couple's faces, Robert's, strong features hiding a broken man that peeked through only in the depths of his eyes, and Maryse's, streaked with shimmering with tears and dull make-up. "Haven't you heard from them?"

"No," Maryse said, sniffing quietly and wiping the back of her hand across her nose. It was a strangely human gesture; something Clary had never seen the woman do. "And it's been days. If Jace and Isabelle came back saying Alec refused to come home, at least I would know they were safe." She shook her head. "Robert and I went to Central Park; we searched the whole damn place. But none of them were there."

"I was there that night," Luke said, crossing his arms over his chest, his pale blue eyes sympathetic. "I saw them fight a fairy with green hair. My pack started howling, all of us at once, and the fairy disappeared. Isabelle, Jace, and Magnus walked away before I could reach them."

There was hope in the twist of Maryse's lips when she looked up. "What about Alec?"

Pressing his lips together, Luke dragged one hand across his eyes behind the twin ovals of his glasses. Somewhere between telling Clary things were okay, and opening the door, he had given up on sugarcoating. "They…" he started, and when his voice faltered, he began again, even quieter than before. "They were carrying him. Isabelle was crying. I'm so sorry Maryse."

Her face fell in tiny, measurable increments. "He's dead?" she asked, and the muscles in Robert's neck tensed.

"I don't know," Luke said quickly, holding up both hands, palms facing her. It was a defensive stance. A don't-run-me-through-please stance. When it became evident she planned on doing no such thing, he relaxed back into his leaning against the wall, arm's crossed, yeah-I'm-cool-like-that stance. "I don't know anything that happened after that."

Clary took advantage of the silence to throw in her two cents. "We _know_ there was a car accident. We _know _Jace was alive three days ago. We _think_ Alec was hurt. We _think_ Jace was alone when I talked to him." And then she shrugged; an apologetic hike of her shoulders. "But we're not sure."

Maryse eyes narrowed and her face changed to something that looked almost…calculating. "So Jace had his phone with him?" she asked, peering up at Clary. It was strangely disorienting. She wasn't used to people looking _up_ at her.

"Yes," she answered warily.

Maryse got to her feet and looked around the room, a sense of purpose in each move she made. It was a dramatic change from the crying wreck she'd been a few moments before.

"Where are you going?" Luke asked, unhitching himself from the wall.

"Where's the computer?" she asked, using one hand to expertly tie back the loose ends of her hair. Behind her, Robert got to his feet, silent despite his menacing bulk.

"The computer?" Clary said, making a face. "Why? Do you even know how to use one?"

Maryse shot her a withering glare, setting her hands firmly on her hips. "I'm a Shadowhunter, Clarissa, not an imbecile. There's a GPS tracker in Jace's phone, courtesy of AT&T." There was a silent moment, as if this was a bad TV drama, with a note in the script reading 'pause for effect'. "I'm going to find my children."

**And if I end up not updating for a few days, blame the people who gave me money and then drove me to the bookstore. This isn't the only thing I've been putting off. Sleep comes to mind. *reaches for the coffee***

**Reviews are like coffee. They keep me writing when my head wants to hit the keyboard.**


	19. For Him to Open His Eyes

**Never procrastinate by playing The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. Never. That game ate my brain, which is why this chapter is short and the plot is stretched and the writing is just generally below par, because now I've got Wii spit-up for brains. You know I'm going insane because I actually just typed Wii spit-up.**

**I've got a novel, a crap-shit lawn mower and the impending doom of school munching on my cerebellum too, so if I don't update for a few days, or just generally vanish off the face of the earth, you know why.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments.**

Magnus felt his eyes widen. "You mean the potion?" he asked, his hand darting instinctively to the lump resting in his pocket, cold even through the material of his jacket. "You want it back?"

The Queen laughed—a sound like shattering glass, shrill and hard and yet beautiful. It made Magnus' ears ache. "No," she said, settling back down onto her couch, dangling her legs over one end and resting her head against the other. Her hair lay beneath her, falling to puddle on the ground beside Magnus' hands. "Once a boon is won from The Folk it cannot be taken away. It is yours now, to do with what you will."

Frowning, Magnus shifted, trying to dispel the aching from his bones, but it just grew more acute, stabbing at his joints, making his arms and legs wobble. "Then what do you want?"

She smiled her cruel, I-know-something-you-don't-know smile and tapped long pale fingers against the frame of the couch, beating out a fast, lively rhythm. "I want many things," she said, cocking her head to the side. The light caught her eyes and for a split second, they physically _glowed_, slivers of blue ice, sharp enough to cut him. "But even I have learned that what you want is not always what you get."

Magnus resisted the urge to sigh, biting back the sound until it caught in his throat and stuck there, an unpleasant weight throbbing every time he swallowed. "What do you want from _me_?" he amended.

"I want nothing from you but to see the disappointment in your eyes when you realize everything you have done, every trial you have bested, and each you have failed,"—she leaned closer and her voice dropped to a hoarse, dramatic whisper—"was for naught."

"I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't," he murmured, not meaning for anyone to hear. But, of course, everyone did, cold, remote stares crawling over him with a feeling akin to spiders walking up his spine, hair-raising and shiver inducing.

Her smile was as fleeting and lovely as a shooting star streaking across the sky. "In a manner of speaking. See, I will not heal the Shadowhunter. But I am the only one who can tell you how."

Magnus glanced towards Alec, saw the gaping blood-encrusted hole, the glimmering sweat, and the frail rise and fall of his chest. Somehow, he was still beautiful. Magnus just wished he would open his eyes. Anything for him to open his eyes. "But my magic—" he started, but the Queen interjected with a wave of her hand and a shake of her head.

"It is not the magic of Lilith's Children that will save the boy."

Eyebrows shooting up to burrow in his hairline, Magnus drew his hand back from his pocket, placing it on his knee. "Then what will?"

She pointed to the bulge resting against Magnus' thigh, and he felt the bottle grow warm, burning his skin through the thick material of both his jacket and his pants. "The bottle in your pocket—"

Magnus—stupid though he knew it was—cut off the Queen mid-sentence. "But you said—"

Her beautiful face froze over, becoming terrible and cold as snow, distant hatred in her eyes as she glared down at him. "Do not interrupt me, Bane," she said, her lips hardly moving, her words a breath bearing all the power of a cry. "You will not like the consequences."

Magnus bobbed his head to hide the blush filling his cheeks, glancing up at her through his long lashes, crusted with glittering tears that he refused to let fall. "Yes, my Queen."

Her face melted into the falsely warm mask she always wore, only the nutty glint of her eyes betraying her façade. "That's better," she whispered, reaching down to pinch his cheek. It might've been an affectionate gesture, had her razor-sharp nails not sliced into his skin, letting rivulets of blood amble over his face and drop down to stain his jeans. The quicksilver smile that darted over her lips assured him it was intentional. The things she did always were, every little move working towards an ulterior motive.

"As I was saying, the bottle, the potion stolen by that traitorous naiad,"—an ugly grimace flashed across her face, making her look somewhat human, if only for a moment—"contains mortal blood, faerie magic and a curse older than time itself—the essence of humanity. It will turn any Downworlder into a mundane, but it will heal any mortal on the brink of death."

Magnus had been wiping the sleeve of his jacket across his cheek, but he stopped in his tracks, letting his gaze work it's way up to meet the Queen's. Blood dripped down into his open mouth, tasting of salt and iron and rust. He didn't move to spit it out. "You mean…"

Someone laughed. Magnus never found out who. Someone with a high silver-chime voice. One of the courtiers. "Yes, _warlock_," the Queen said, her eyes flickering to something behind him and back. "The only way to save him is to give him the potion, and give up your last chance at mortality."

**I apologize. I realize it's super short and **_**another**_** cliffhanger, but I just didn't have enough brainpower left to write more. Don't shoot me. **

**Please review, tell me how to improve. I can always improve.**


	20. Forgive Me

**So, so sorry this is so, so late. What with school starting and Catching Fire (so amazing) coming out, I've barely had time to brush my teeth and go to bed. I actually forgot about this until just yesterday. Oops.**

**Hopefully you can all forgive me.**

**Disclaimer: I am most definitely **_**not**_** Cassandra Clare.**

"_In love, everything is true, everything is false; it is the one subject on which one cannot express an absurdity" —Chamfort _

_And give up your last chance at mortality._

If Magnus refused, Alec would die, but he would be able to end his own suffering. If he agreed, Alec would survive, and he would live out eternity wondering if he had done the right thing. Dead Alec. Living Alec. Two horrendously uneven ends of the same scale that if tipped the wrong way could send Magnus spiraling towards death or insanity. But he didn't care about himself.

Dead Alec. Living Alec. It wasn't a choice.

Magnus dug out the bottle from his pocket—the glass miraculously whole, the liquid glowing weakly in the Queen's presence, reflecting the light from the phosphorescent moss. He pulled the stopper and bent over, shoving back Alec's hair, letting his fingers linger on the faintly scarred skin of his cheek. Reaching to force open Alec's lips, Magnus jumped when he was met with resistance. Not just resistance, powerful resistance, Alec's hand flying up to crush the warlock's fingers.

The Shadowhunter's eyes were cold and defiant, daring him to move any closer. "No," he said firmly, but so quietly that Magnus wasn't sure anyone else heard him.

"Alec?" Magnus asked, leaning forward so that the tips of his sweat-drenched hair brushed Alec's chin. The grip on his hand tightened, and he could feel the bones in his knuckles begin to protest. Would Alec break his hand?

"No," Alec said again, louder. "I don't want to live without you."

Magnus gave him a puh-lease look. "Okay, now you're just sounding cliché."

Nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm, drawing slivers of bright red blood. "I mean it," Alec pressed, his eyes running over Magnus' every pore—not in a lazy, appraising way, but in a way that suggested he thought there was only so much time left. "I finally found someone I could love. I won't give it up."

"Alec," Magnus said, setting down the still-open bottle and resting his fingers of Alec's overly tense ones, squeezing gently. "If you don't drink this, you'll _die_."

Alec stared back unfazed. "And if I do, you'll leave again." There was a pause and in that moment, his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "And it'll be just like I never drank it in the first place."

The muscles in Magnus' face hardened into a fiercely resolute mask, blood rushing to color his cheeks and pump his veins with nervous adrenaline. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you die."

"Then promise you won't leave if I drink," Alec said, his eyes so clear and blue that Magnus couldn't look away. Not if this might be the last time he could stare back without hiding his emotions behind thick, unbreakable walls. He wouldn't look away. "Promise you won't disappear."

"I can't. I just…can't." The sliver of hope on Alec's face disappeared, and Magnus shook him gently, trying to chase the despair from his eyes. "Just like I can't watch you die now, I can't watch it fifty, sixty years from now."

Alec shoved aside Magnus' hand, riots of blood pumping from his wound each time he moved. A bit bubbled up between his lips. "It's up to you," he said, spitting flecks f crimson. "It's your choice."

"This isn't fair," Magnus breathed, biting his lip and squinting back tears that showed anyway, in every word he spoke. "You know I love you. But you know I can't be with you. I can't promise anything, it wouldn't be the truth."

The ghost of a smile danced over Alec's features. "What happened to 'I'm a wonderful liar'?" he goaded, raising his eyebrows.

Magnus frowned. "I don't want to lie to you."

Alec shrugged; though doing so made his face crinkle in agony. "You do what you have to, right?" he said through gritted teeth.

"But you'd know it wasn't real," Magnus pressed.

It looked like he might've tried to shrug again, but the pain must've been too much, because he simply lay his head back. "Sometimes lies are easier to swallow."

Someone cleared her throat. Magnus glanced up and saw the queen glaring down at him disapprovingly. "How moving," she drawled, her eyes holding a world's worth of contempt and utter indifference. "But I would appreciate a little haste. I do have things that must be done."

Alec laughed. It was weak, humorless, and barely counted as a laugh, but Magnus jumped all the same. "Ball's in your court," whispered the Shadowhunter.

Magnus shook his head, slowly, his face contorted with internal suffering. "I love you," he choked, holding Alec's hand so tight, he felt a few bones splinter. But Alec was too far gone to care. "So much. But I can't lie to you."

"Magnus…"

"Be quiet," Magnus spat around the thickness in his throat.

Magnus twisted, hiding his face and arms in the voluminous folds of his coat. Tears came unbidden down his cheeks as he reached for the bottle, holding the opening to his mouth for a long, apprehensive second. Then he flicked his wrist, letting the contents slip and slide over his teeth and tongue.

The rainbow liquid tasted like syrup and pain.

Setting the half-empty bottle beside his knee, he turned back to Alec, whose eyes were lidded and dull, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The warlock leaned over and cradled the boy's face in his hands. He felt breakable, like a priceless porcelain doll that would shatter at the slightest touch. But that didn't stop Magnus from kissing him so hard his lips went numb.

It was like kissing someone already dead.

Magnus threaded his fingers through Alec's hair anyway, going through the motions, making it look as real as he could. It was hard to keep his lips shut tight, but he managed it long enough. Then he spat into Alec's mouth.

The warlock kept kissing him until he was sure the boy had swallowed.

He tasted like rust and cold metal.

Magnus pulled back, his face smeared with streaks of blood, his lips stained cherry red. He could've been a vampire. "Forgive me," he whispered, closing his fingers around Alec's hand as the boy began to thrash.

**If anyone is confused, I totally understand. I tried to write it so it was a little vague, hopefully everything will be cleared up next chapter. Soon I'll be going back to Jace and Isabelle for a chapter or two, and the pieces will start fitting together.**

**Tell me what to change—and seriously, I can **_**always**_** improve; I'm not freaking J.K. Rowling. Constructive criticism ranks higher on my list of "things I love" than sleep. How many teenagers can honestly say that?**


	21. Something Lovely

**Once again, sorry for the delay. I've been really caught up in writing a short story and I've been having issues getting into a Mortal Instruments mindset, which is why this is short and...might not quite work. Let me know if something reeks of hypocrisy, I'll try to make it right.**

**Also, starting tomorrow, my internet will be down for a week--which **_**sucks**_**--so I won't be able to upload. But as soon as it's back up, I promise you guys two chapters. Kay? **

***insert standard disclaimer***

"It won't work."

Magnus looked up at the Queen, who gave him a quicksilver smile as if they shared a joke. But no, Magnus was the joke. The toy she tossed against the wall to see how long it would take to break. The spider whose legs she pulled off one by one. The army man she stuck in the microwave on defrost.

"What?"

"Each of you drinking half the potion," she said, and he could've sworn that she giggled. "It will not work. It is enough to save him, but not enough to save you."

Magnus found himself shrugging, as if he couldn't care less, though nothing could be farther from the truth. "I had to try." He looked back at Alec, and grabbed his other hand to hold him still. His eyes had rolled back into his head, his skin hot to the touch. Healing was messy. "Anyway, this is still what I would've picked."

"You will leave him," the Queen said, in a voice that left no room for question.

"I..." His face fell as his voice faded to a whisper. He found himself studying the lines of Alec's face, the ones he already knew so well. He wouldn't let himself forget them. "Yes. I have to."

An icy smile crept over her features, lighting up her eyes and chilling him straight to the bone. "Then my task here is complete."

Magnus couldn't help but raise an incredulous eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I told you before, all I want is to see the defeat in your eyes. It is..." she paused, and sniffed the air. In that moment, she looked completely insane, an animal, hunting for its prey. "A treat, to have all your despair seething through the room. It is something lovely."

Eyes widening, jaw dropping, Magnus let Alec's hands drop and rose to his feet, his eyes coming more-than-level with the faerie Queen. In fact, he was looking down at her. It was a strangely thrilling feeling. "You sick bitch."

"Do you wish for punishmet?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. For once, it was straightforward question, to which Magnus could answer yes or no. No tangled faerie half-truths or confusingly worded questions that twisted and knotted and doubled back on themselves.

Magnus shook his head, and took a small shuffling step backwards, which clashed with his next words. "You can't hurt me."

"Maybe not," the Queen allowed. "But him,"--she pointed one finger at Alec, who twitched in response, new lines scoring his face--"him I can hurt. And you don't want that, now do you?"

"Lay one finger on him," Magnus hissed, stretching out every inch of his beanpole frame, holding his arms a little to the sides and up, as if getting ready to throw a punch. The shadow he cast on the wall looked strangely like a bat, his messy hair like ears and the folds of his coat like wings. Anyone else probably would pissed their pants and coward in the corner. But not the Seelie Queen.

She simply raised an eyebrow, and lifted her chin defiantly. "Or you'll do what?" She laughed at him and his shoulders fell instinctively, chopping off a good section of his height as he slouched. You can't harm me. No one can."

Something crashed in the hallway, and far away, someone screamed. The Queen crinkled up her face in annoyance and waved an impatient hand.

"Uaithne, Eoghan, take care of it."

The knights marched away and the Queen turned back to Magnus, opening her mouth to speak...

_CRACK! _

The vine-door blew inward, greenery scattering in each direction, slapping the walls, perching on the heads of faeries like ridiculous toupees. Magnus found himself curled protectively around Alec, arms around the Shadowhunter's shoulders, his body positioned to shield him from whatever came. Alec had stopped convulsing, and lay limp in the warlock's hold, head lolling against his chest, eyes closed, breathing shallow.

Through the doorway stepped a woman--well, a faerie--with skin the color of cream and hair the color of midnight--not quite black, not quite blue. The curling locks shone like a raven's feathers as she threw back her head and laughed. A form-fitting dress sheathed her slim frame, the ends reaching out to brush the ground with tattered fingers. Wings knifed out from her shoulder blades, made of swirling black mist, of pain and sorrow and nightmares. Just being near her, Magnus felt the last threads of hope leave his heart. The Seelie Queen might be a bitch, but this faerie was evil.

Every faerie in the room seemed to wither, shrinking back into the corners. Even the armed knights didn't try to stop her.

"Did you really think you could stop me with such weak bodyguards?" she said, and her voice was like shattering glass, shrill and grating. She laughed, and threw something at the Queen's feet. The thing rolled forward to rest on what used to be a neck, and was now no more than shredded flesh and blood. It was Eoghan's head, his leafy hair plastered to his ghost-pale skin with his own blood, his eyes dull, staring into oblivion. Magnus through the Seelie Queen might've actually flinched. "Took a blink of my eye to destroy them."

The Queen got to her feet, her hands balled into shaking fists, anger written on her face in clear, bold strokes. "Rhiannon," she hissed, and another figure stepped from the shadows.

"Jace?" Magnus asked, staring in horror as the tall blond boy appeared beside Rhiannon, an angel blade in one hand, and an iron knife in the other. His face was wiped blank of emotion, except for his eyes, which met Magnus' gaze and conveyed without words what he wanted so desperately to say.

_It's okay._

The faeries ignored him, staring each other down like two macho mundanes getting ready to brawl. Suddenly, Rhiannon smiled, and cocked her head to the side, like a curious bird. "Hello," she said. "Sister."

**God, I'm sorry. This sounds like a bad soap opera. Stupid sleep deprivation, stupid teacher that gives me essay the first week of school, causing said sleep deprivation.**

**Next, we go back in time a little bit and figure out what the hell Jace is doing with the Seelie Queen's sister. And I'm just curious; can anyone guess who exactly she is? Anyone who does gets a virtual cookie.**

**Reviews&ConCrit=Love**


	22. A World Wasted

**I **_**know**_** I promised two chapters. This is the equivalent of two chapters, stuck into one to make it less work for me.**

**Just to clarify, this takes place after Chapter 18--Courtesy of AT&T. I skipped a few days with Isabelle and Jace because not much happened, so this pretty much picks them up after Chapter 15. If something doesn't make sense, post a review asking me to explain better. Hey, post a review anyway!**

**Disclaimer: My name's still not Cassandra Clare. I only wish. **

Jace didn't call Clary back. He tried. Oh Lord did he try. He held his cell phone open in the air as he walked around, looking like a total idiot—not that it mattered, no one saw him—but no matter where he went the meter in the corner of the screen remained distressingly flat.

It was then that he decided they weren't New York anymore.

Days passed, and still the place was as dead as before. Isabelle got worse, the skin around her cut turning puffy and shiny red, tears falling down to paint her cheeks. Jace couldn't help her. They had no food, no water, and no weapons. They had nothing.

"Isabelle," Jace whispered, brushing back his sister's hair. "If you can hear me, I'm sorry. Even if you can't hear me, I'm sorry. I don't know where we are, but I'm going to find help. I going to get you help." He picked her up in his arms and was surprised by how little she weighed, as if she was no more than a shell with her insides scooped out. Kicking aside dusty rubble and rotting lumber, Jace made a hollow between the wall and a busted down door, tucking Isabelle inside so that she was hidden by the shadows. Anyone who came by would have to be looking for her to find her, and if anyone was looking for her, the two were pretty screwed anyway. "Hold on just a little bit longer," he whispered.

Outside it had begun to rain, fat drops of water covering his skin with their icy kisses, running in rivulets over his jeans, plastering his hair to the planes of his face. Jace spread his arms as he walked, goosebumps budding up underneath his skin as the rain turned him numb. The dried blood on his bare chest turned gooey, half-congealed, painting crimson streaks as it dripped oh-so-slowly away. It felt good, as if that might wash away everything wrong.

The streets were dead, the cement and pavement split by feathering cracks, the buildings broken and gutted, hints of their iron skeletons peeking through the concrete skin. There was no life, no weeds sprouting through the fissures, no scurrying of little rat feet, none of the click-clack of bugs skittering through the ruins, not even the sounds of traffic he'd heard when he'd first woken up. It was like every picture he'd seen of the Holocaust aftermath, the world wasted and shattered.

Jace didn't know how long he walked. An hour, maybe two. But eventually he could go no further, because he hit a wall.

Well, not exactly a wall. It looked like glamour, distorting the air around it and flickering with rainbow colors. But when he put his hand to it--a tribute to the fact that human stupidity is indeed infinite--he was thrown bodily backwards, a jolt running up his spine like a static discharge. Jace landed ten feet away in a puddle of stagnant water that gave his skin a faintly green taint where it touched. His veins were fizzing madly, as if he'd just finished drinking a six-pack of Pepsi Max, and his hair crackled with electricity. Scrambling up, he approached the wall once more, this time keeping a respectful distance.

Through it, he could see New York. He wasn't exactly sure where, but it was without a doubt New York, complete with ridiculous traffic, screaming people and steel-spire skyscrapers. But what caught his attention was the quartet of people standing just on the other side, staring right at him, but straight _through_ him at the same time.

_Clary._ She looked as if she hadn't slept in days; her eyes purpled and lidded, her hair frizzy and wild. There was some device in her hand that she kept glancing at, her face wrinkled in confusion and worry. _A GPS?_ On one side of her were Maryse and Robert, dressed all in black, and seemingly worse for wear. They were holding hands. Jace had never seen his adoptive parents hold hands.

Behind the three of them stood Luke, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, arms over his chest, wound as tight as a Presidential bodyguard. He was the only one who looked together in any way, shape or form.

"Clary!" Jace yelled, clutching his side as his wound roared in protest. Nix the yelling. "Maryse! Robert! Luke!" But they just looked past him, even though there was nothing there worth looking at. "Mom! Dad! _Clary!"_

Clary moved, but not towards him. Instead, she turned to Maryse and Robert, the imprint of tears shimmering on her cheeks, though it might've been the deformations of the wall. Jace fought to read her lips as she spoke. _He's not here. Let's go._

"No!" He dashed forward, stopping just short of the wall. He had to resist the urge to bang on it for all he was worth. "I'm here! Clary! Mom! Dad! I'm _here_!" But it did no good. The four of them walked silently away, melding seamlessly into the bustling crowd.

Jace sank to his knees, all the hope that had sprung into his heart draining away like water down a sink.

Behind him, someone laughed.

"Hello?" he said, half-turning, splaying one hand on the slippery asphalt to keep his balance. "Hello? Is someone there?" Even though it dealt blow after blow to his pride, he forced himself to continue. "Can you help me?"

From nowhere and everywhere at once came a loud, chiming voice that cut through the storm. "Two little Shadowhunters lost their way, one roams uselessly through world of gray, the other lies in musty tomb of steel and stone, waiting for the time when she will die alone."

"Who are you?" Jace asked, running his eyes over every inch of the street that looked the same as it had five minutes ago. "What do you know about Isabelle?"

Another laugh, hoarse and mocking. Blood rushed to color Jace's cheeks in an angry blush. "A fading, sputtering flame, lazing tired, weak and lame, watched over by shadows and night, eagerly waiting their chance for a bite."

An image swam up to fill Jace's mind. Isabelle, nearly dead, being carried away by man-shaped shadows wielding wicked knives that glittered like glass. There was no way to know if it was real or not. If he was somehow seeing something that was actually happening, or if it was just his imagination working against him.

"Liar!"

"Lie liar lying, the little girl is crying." In the middle of the street appeared a man, tall and stick-thin with long purple hair that danced in the wind. His skin was white as paper, peppered with dark sores that showed glimpses of the bone beneath and dripped black fluid, turning the rain gray. The left half of his face had rotted away, the permanent rigid grin giving him a look both amused and sinister. His hair sprouted straight from the yellowed skull.

"What are you?" Jace gasped, his breath catching. Jace, who had faced down--and killed--more demons than most Shadowhunters saw in a lifetime, who welcomed danger with open arms and a "come and get me", gasped at the sight of this monster. Maybe it was the fact that even though the rain continued to thunder down around them, not a drop touched him, the water fizzing into nonexistence inches from his skin. Maybe it was the way he beamed, as if all of this was a game--one he was winning. Or maybe it was just because he was the creepiest shit Jace had ever seen.

All those demons and this decaying man scared him more. That had to say something.

The creature snapped his fingers, and a red-and-yellow polka dot umbrella appeared in one long-fingered hand. He twirled it a few times; cutting clear paths through the downpour that disappeared as soon as they formed. "One which walks the world of gray," he said, lifting the umbrella high enough over his head so that the rain hit it and surged over the sides in roaring rivulets. "One descended from the fey."

"Where am I?" Jace asked, spitting out water just so more could flood his mouth. Slowly, warily, he got to his feet, wishing for the millionth time that he had an angel blade, or a knife. Heck, he would've given his ear for just a crowbar. But he balled his hands into fists and made do.

"Are you dense?" the creature asked, the right side of his face twisted with disappointment, his single eyebrow moving to where it might've met the other, had there been another. "Have you lost all trace of sense? I've said it now no less than twice. Oh well," he sighed and shrugged. "I suppose you shall suffice."

"Suffice to what?"

His ecstatic grin returned, and the darkness of his left eye socket seemed to spark with life. "Fancy a shower?" he asked, flicking the umbrella closed and shaking off the beading water in Jace's direction. "Wash off that look so nasty and sour? You must be clean, if we're to take you to the Queen."

"What?" Jace said, taking a step back.

The creature moved faster than he would've thought possible. One second, he was a good ten feet away. The next, he was right beside Jace, every detail of his rotting skin thrown into clarity. Maggots crawled through his sores like worms in dirt, and a spider had made its web in the space where the missing half of his nose should've been. Jace's stomach churned, but there was nothing to throw up.

"No!" he said, lifting his foot to move away. But the creature performed another of his blindingly fast moves, and suddenly he was gripping Jace's arm hard enough to break bones, the tips of his violet hair blowing forward to brush the Shadowhunter's face, soft as a caressing hand. Where the two touched, Jace's skin burned.

"Get off of me!"

Laughing, the creature raised the umbrella, bringing it down over Jace's head. There was a crack like gunfire, and the boy went limp, shadows looming to swallow him up. Detachedly, he felt the maggots leave his attacker's skin and scuttle over his, tickling him with their feet. He felt it when he hit the ground, hard, and blood welled up under his hair, mixing with the rain.

He had just enough time to think, _Not again, _before the blackness claimed him.

"Two little Shadowhunters lost their way…"

**Can you guys put up with three more Jace and Isabelle chapters? Or do I have to cut them down to the bare minimum to not lose readers?**

**Jace is seriously out of character. Sorry. You can help make this better. Review. **


	23. The Spark That Starts the Fire

**Once again, so, so sorry about the lateness. There is just so much crap going on that this gets shoved to the back of my mind again and again. But I'm going to try to get better about it, and not leave you hanging so bad.**

**This chapter really isn't any less confusing than the last, but hopefully the next one will explain it all. Hopefully.**

**Disclaimer: No Mortal Instruments characters belong to me. Just the crappy, mostly nameless OC's.**

Everything was black. Or maybe that was just the back of his eyelids.

"Has he woken _yet_?" an unfamiliar voice whined. There was a thump, as if someone had stamped their foot against the floor.

"No," answered another, clearly wishing they could bitch-slap some sense into their companion.

"But we've got to get him to the Queen," the first protested. Someone sighed. Jace could feel their breath gushing over his cheek they were so close.

When they spoke, their voice was deafening. Jace wanted to cover his ears but he couldn't find the right muscles to move. "Hold on, hold on," they said. Something sloshed noisily and splattered against the floor. "Just let me rinse him off."

A jolt of shock raced up Jace's spine as his nerves screamed, pimply goosebumps racing up along the length of his arms. He bolted upright, torrents of water gushing from his nose and mouth, his face thick and heavy and _burning._ The blanket covering him was molded to his skin with water, drenched till it was icy cold. "Gah!" he cried, shaking his hands, droplets of water leaping from his fingers. "Why am I wet?"

"Because I dumped water on you," said a girl from across the room. She was short and slight, her limbs no thicker than toothpicks. Wild curls of electric yellow hair frizzed out around her head in a wiry halo. She had storm-gray eyes. "Duh."

"Who are you?" Jace asked, scanning the room out of instinct. It was small, with the bed he lay in, a table, the stool where the girl sat and a chair beside the fireplace occupied by a bald boy with mottled red and yellow lizard skin and a flicking forked tongue. "Where's Isabelle?"

The stormy girl shrugged and wrapped a curl around her finger before letting it spring back into perfectly random place. She looked like the kind of person who enjoyed sticking her fingers in light sockets. "Didn't see no chick around." Jace noticed that while the room was rather archaic and Spartan, there was evidence of modern influence everywhere. In the strings of Christmas lights hung from the rafters, in the Gameboy resting on the table, in the jeans and sweatshirt sheathing the girl's slim form. "Rot left you on my doorstep all by your lonesome."

"Rot?" Jace asked, sweeping back his sopping hair. He had no weapon, and the lizard boy was between him and the door. Two mundanes he could've taken easily. But whatever these two were, they weren't mundanes. So for the time being he talked and tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

Nodding, the stormy girl kicked up her feet on the edge of the table. "Yeah, the rhyming son of a bitch. Listening to him century after century drives one near insane." The smile she gave him was pitying and cruel in one movement. "You're just lucky you weren't around during his limerick phase."

"Century?"

The lizard boy rolled his eyes and spoke in a voice that hissed and crackled like fire. "As in a hundred years."

"I know what a century is, I just..." Jace paused and wriggled under the blanket. His gold eyes widened until they swallowed his now-livid face. "Where, the hell," he said, enunciating clearly. "Are my clothes?"

The girl pointed at the sizzling grate, her tone unruffled by his. "Fireplace," she said, and then tapped her fingers along the length of her chin. Sparks jumped from beneath her nails to skip over her face and sputter through her hair. "Though I don't know if they'd be considered clothes anymore."

Jace's complexion was somewhere between a tomato and a plum. "You burnt my clothes?!" he cried, tugging the blanket closer, even when it made him shiver.

She shrugged again, the material of her dark gray sweatshirt rustling. "They were filthy."

Expression horrified, Jace had to resist the urge to get up and punch her lights out. "You could've washed them!"

Shuddering, she waved his concern away with a flick of her wrist. Her nails were patterned with lightning bolts. "There was _no way_ all that disgusting _humanity_ was coming out." When he raised a dubious eyebrow, she shot him a fleeting smile. "No offense."

It was a moment before Jace was able to string everything together into one stumbling sentence. "So, you're a fairy?" As soon as he spoke the words, he knew they were true. Despite the modernity and offhand manner of these two, they were both--somehow--fey.

Both also managed to roll their eyes in perfectly synchronized union. "No shit Sherlock," snorted the girl. Getting to her feet, she picked a bundle off the table and tossed it his way. "Here, put these on." The package contained a pair of jeans and a loose dark tunic. There were no shoes.

Jace sniffed them warily, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "They smell like the inside of Bath and Body Works."

Another eye roll. "They smell like the fey," she corrected, setting her hands on her dainty hips in a way that reminded him far too much of Isabelle. _Isabelle. Alec. Magnus. _He had to find them. He _would_ find them. "Put them on."

"No way am I wearing something this..." he struggled after the word, but eventually came up with it. "_Gay_ smelling." He nodded to himself, satisfied with his choice. "I'd rather go naked."

"Suit yourself," she said with a flip of her hair. Her ears rose to needle sharp points. Pointing towards the door--a low round thing more suited for a dog than a human--she yawned. "It's through there then."

"What is?"

She snorted, and pulled the lizard-boy up and towards the door. Opening it with one hand, she drove him through and grinned back at Jace. "What do you think?" The door closed with a quiet whoosh, sealing him in.

It took Jace only about a minute before he stumbled up--amazed that the ache was gone from his chest and the wound was no more than a ragged scar--and slipped on the clothes. They were soft and light against his skin, as if he was still wearing nothing at all.

_Isabelle. Alec. Magnus._

There was only one door. Only one choice.

It swung inwards as he neared, making him jump. He was sure it had opened _outwards_ before. Stealing himself, he shouldered his way through, bent almost double, hobbling like an old man without his cane.

His eyes fell on a stunningly gorgeous woman, tall and thin as a rod, dressed in a tattered bloodstained gown that rippled with colors in the light. Her hair was oil slick black and falling nearly to the floor. When she smiled, it lit up her cruel, calculating eyes.

"Welcome," she said, her voice coarse and lovely. "Jace Herondale, to the realm of the Unseelie Court."

**That probably raised more questions than it answered. If I contradict myself at any point, please let me know. I want to get better and I just feel like I'm getting worse. :-/**

**Review and help me improve. Honestly, reviews let me know that people are still reading this and that there's some point in writing more. **


	24. Gorgeously Grotesque

**For those of you who don't know, my computer was down for the better part of a month. Which is why this took so long to upload. So I'm sorry. Really, really, really sorry. Blame AT&T.**

**Let me know what doesn't make sense. Please. If you don't, it'll stay senseless forever.**

The Unseelie Court was beautiful in a strange, terrible way. Nestled in the hollowed belly of a hill, dirt walls sloped around the massive room, laced with ghost pale roots and snarled thorns. The floor was neatly tiled in housewife-standard black-and-white linoleum, the bordering grout stained crimson with old blood.

Gorgeous grotesque fey churned around him with the sounds of pattering slippered feet and inane animal chatter. A dwarf with a snow-white beard and pebbly eyes cradled a silvery bowl of blood between his arms, a line of faeries stretching across the room before him. As each approached they sampled the blood, dipping in a finger and licking it clean or burying their faces in the bowl like dogs. One whizzing sprite--about the size of a Barbie doll--zipped in a tight circle and folded her crepe-like wings, dunking her entire body into the blood. She came out sheathed in red and grinning as she licked her lips.

A selkie tossed her long waterlogged hair; her sandy brown pelt draped over one arm. Trolls sulked along the walls; green skin and jutting jaws making them look like some bizarre Cro-Magnons, clubs clutched in their meaty hands. Everywhere fey danced, blurring into a mix of light and sound.

But Jace's eyes invariably strayed back to the tall woman--more beautiful than any of the lesser fey--seated atop her tree-woven throne. The seat looked uncomfortable, riddled with knobby roots and pointed branches, but her lovely face held no hint of pain.

"How do you know my name?" Jace asked, suddenly horribly glad he had decided to wear the fruity smelling clothes. Feeling gay was better than being naked in front of the most stunning woman he'd ever seen.

She smiled a smile loaded with devious kindness. "I make a point of knowing my guest's names," she said, settling her temple on her bone-pale knuckles. Her hair rustled, letting him glimpse pointed ears pierced with a riot of silver studs and hoops. In another setting and another outfit, Jace might've thought she was an inexplicably gorgeous Goth girl. "It would be impolite not to."

He nodded, more for an excuse to hide his awe than to allude consent. It was written all over his face, and they both knew it. "The Unseelie Queen, right?" Jace said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He remembered the stories he'd heard about the Unseelie Court, about the terrible, cruel fey who hid themselves in the crawlspaces of existence, emerging only to extract merciless amusements from unwilling and oblivious humans.

"How lovely," she breathed, raising a single ribbon-slim eyebrow. "A boy with brains."

Jace glanced around, a fairy meeting his nervous gaze just long enough to make him shudder and flinch away. Tiny and stick-thin, her flaming red hair and bottle green eyes made her look like Clary's long-lost immortal twin. He didn't need any reminders of just how much he was going to lose if this conversation went awry. "Where am I, exactly?" he asked, careful to exude the pinnacle of politeness.

"Didn't I just say it?" Her laugh was glass crunched underfoot, grating and violent. "The Unseelie Court."

"I--"

The Queen held up her free hand, jeweled rings glittering rich colors on her fingers. "I understand," she soothed, every gesture ushering him to stay calm. "You are in Faerie, a realm apart from what you know as the world, and yet of it."

Reaching over to a table crouching alongside her throne, her spidery hand selected a sandwich, with glistening pink deli meat curling over the edges of the pristine white bread. It looked out of place in this magic kingdom, better suited for Saran wrap and a Star Wars lunch box.

"Think of it as this sandwich." She fingered the slices of bread, idly peeling away the dark crusts. "These two pieces of bread are a block in New York City, and Faerie is the meat inside." With a quick flick of her wrist, she peeled back the bread, showing damp white underbellies resulting from too many hours left out.

"There is a street that if you walk along it you will pass entirely through Faerie in one second without any knowledge of it. When the Seelie knights crashed the van and picked up the other Shadowhunter and the warlock, they simply dropped you here to keep you out of the way, figuring I would have you killed on the spot. When that girl came looking for you, she wound up on the street I mentioned. The GPS said you were there, and you were, but she couldn't see you, even when you could see her."

Jace bobbed his head, only half-listening. Part of his brain was registering the information, but the rest was thinking of Isabelle abandoned in the warehouse, and picturing the worst. "I appreciate your hospitality, Lady, but there was a girl with me, my sister, and she was gravely injured. I must return to her."

The smile she gave him was full with knowing.

She raised a hand and snapped her fingers twice, the sound cutting through the mumbling undertones.

The fey fell silent as a fairy with short silver hair and hard untouchable eyes melted from the crowd, one arm cinched around a girl's waist.

Isabelle's head whipped up, her loose hair cracking like a banner on a windy day. Her pale face broke into a dazzling smile, her dark eyes sparkling.

"Jace!" she cried, relieved. The fairy peeled back his arm and she sprinted forward, crushing her adoptive brother in a hug.

She smelled like rotting leaves and the sharp cut of new ice.

"Isabelle?" Jace said, holding her at arm's length. She looked completely intact, her skin fresh-scrubbed and her sweeping floor-length dress obviously new. Jace made her spin a couple times, scouring her for any kind of damage. "I thought you were hurt."

She grinned and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Not anymore, the faeries gave me a drink and now I'm all better. There's not even a scar." Holding up her unhurt arm for him to see, she laughed at his expression of utter horror.

"You _drank_ something the _faeries_ gave you?" he scoffed, considering smacking her across the face to unravel whatever enchantment had been smothering her better judgment. But then he remembered that it was Isabelle, and the words "better judgment" were not compatible with trendy boutiques and a new pair of shoes. "Are you mentally instable?"

It was the Queen's turn to laugh. "Calm, Shadowhunter, the girl is free to go when she pleases. I simply needed a bargaining chip, so I had her healed."

Jace quirked an eyebrow, subtly shifting himself between the fairy woman and his slaphappy sister. "A bargaining chip?"

The Unseelie Queen took a bite of the ham sandwich, a blob of mustard tickling her lower lip. She caught it with a quick lizard-like flick of her tongue. "See, my sister is the Seelie Queen," she said, swallowing. "Centuries we have fought, pitching our faeries against each other of battles of wit and blood. And always she has won, through trickery or sheer brute force. I intend to undo that. I intend to have my revenge."

"A bargaining chip?" he repeated, his grip tightening on Isabelle's arm. Angry red half-moon marks erupted on her wrist.

"I need your help Jace," she said, polishing off the sandwich. She licked her fingers one by one, taking her sweet time. "I'm not ashamed to admit it." A shrug. "I needed you to owe me."

"She's already healed," Jace said, knowing even as he said it that it wasn't worth saying. "What's stopping us from walking away?"

A wicked gleam surfaced on the Queen's smile. "Every faerie in the Unseelie Court, including Rot. You met him, did you not?" An image rose in Jace's mind, of yellowed bones and oozing dark sores. He couldn't help but shudder.

"Besides," she continued, absently braiding her ebony hair with one hand. It shimmered as she moved, glowing inky blue-black. "If you assist me in overthrowing my sister, I will grant you a boon. One wish of your choice, as long as it is within my power. Anything."

Jace closed his eyes, and let out a long, slow breath.

_Isabelle, Alec, Magnus._

"I'm going to need a phone."

**I really hope that cleared up a lot. For anyone still a bit confused, let me clarify.**

**Everything that happened to Jace and Isabelle was because of a silly feud between two sisters.**

**If more clarification is needed, tell me about in a review. Next chapter will be back to Alec and Magnus, and I promise it won't take so long this time.**

**Sorry again.**


	25. Wicked Witch of the West

**Can I beg your forgiveness? Or am I bound for the stake?**

**I'm so sorry it took this long. I got really caught up in my novel, and when I'd remember about this, I'd be in the middle of class. So, I'm sorry again. On the bright side, there are only a few chapters left till the end, and I'm on winter break, so I'll try my best not to get distracted.**

**Disclaimer: I may be evil, but I don't own the Mortal Instruments.**

The Seelie Queen tensed, every muscle in her sinewy body going rigid. "Kill them!" she screeched, the first truly angry, emotion-ruled words Magnus had heard her say. He thought 'off with their heads' would've sounded more appropriate.

Loyal to a fault, her courtiers sprang forward, long fingers hooked into claws, lips pulled back in snarls more animal than anything else. But Rhiannon laughed and threw back her head, light spazzing up and down the length of her hair. Faeries overflowed through the doorway, surging past Jace, their inhuman hands filled with knives that glittered like glass and clubs that could've been branches ripped from living trees.

Magnus was an island amid the writhing ocean; his arms wound so tightly around Alec that he could feel the hammer of his heart--stronger now, a drumbeat rather than a flutter--pounding against his own chest. The faeries ignored him, but the Seelie Queen didn't.

Half mad with rage, she blew through the fight, her perfectly pale limbs coming out unscathed. From nowhere she summoned a sword of blindingly flashy silver, one that looked far too heavy for her to lift.

"This is all your fault," she hissed, her icy eyes bulging nearly out of her sockets, veined with pulsing red. She looked like an enraged bull, common sense left behind to watch from her throne, looking on with cold, calculating disdain.

_What a dysfunctional family._

"All your fault." The sword swung high above her head, it's point glittering. "I'm going to kill you."

Magnus grit his teeth and shifted so that every inch of Alec's body was protected with his taller one. He didn't have the strength to move both of them out of the way. He could only hope the Queen wasn't powerful enough to cut right through him and into Alec.

The pain he was waiting for didn't come, and he swiveled his head to look up.

Jace had his angel blade locked hilt to hilt with the Queen's sword, his iron knife chasing after her, hungry to bite into her exposed belly. Snarling like a lion, the Queen jerked away, freeing her sword for another swing at Magnus.

Jace didn't have enough time to stop her, but Rhiannon did. Materializing in the Queen's path, the dark faerie conjured a wicked black blade that whizzed upwards to meet its silver sister mid-air. Rhiannon's shadowy wings quivered happily as the Queen's face melted from rage to dismay.

The sisters fought in blurs and clashes of metal on metal. Dresses fluttering, hair whipping, related features morphing into expression after expression. Fury, hatred, laughter, triumph, pain. They had their own bubble amid the churning fight, a battle within a battle.

Jace wasn't watching. He collapsed to his knees beside Magnus, helping him roll away from Alec and onto the blood-slicked floor. Gold hair sticking to his skin with sweat, the Shadowhunter heaved in rasping breath after breath, fingers flickering over his brother's neck, hunting for a pulse.

"He's alive," Magnus coughed, wiping at the dirt ground into his skin. A bit came off on the heel of his palm, but most had fused resolutely to his face. "He's alive." The words sounded like a chant, like a tether tying him to the shore, keeping him from sinking. His heart battered against his ribs like a caged bird, wings aflutter inside his chest. "He's alive."

Jace didn't look away from Alec, his filthy bloodied hand clamped on the space where he'd finally chased down a heartbeat. "Thank the Angel," he whispered, the lines gouged into his face making him look a hundred years old. Alec still hadn't opened his eyes, but color was slowly flushing back into his cheeks, and the creases of pain had been erased.

Neither of them said anything, caught amid a throng of faeries and blood. There was nothing they could say.

"ALEC!"

The two snapped to attention, two pairs of gold-ish eyes watching as Isabelle tore herself free of the fight, her blood-spattered whip trailing along like an obedient dog. Her hair was bound back, her pale face dirty but ecstatic. Moving with all the care and grace of a water buffalo, she folded down beside her brother, squeezing slim shoulders in between Jace and Magnus.

"It's okay Izzy," Jace said, when her expression went downhill at Alec's stillness. "He's breathing. Just sleeping."

Her tears came anyway, painting clean streaks over her cheeks. Magnus would've been crying too--for his own reasons--if he'd been able to feel much of anything besides relief.

Alec was _alive_. He was _okay_.

Over the half-animal screeches, squelches and clangs, Jace's cell phone gave the distinctive two-toned beep that told him of a new text. Fishing it out, he checked the screen. "What do you know?" he said, one blond eyebrow bobbing. "I get service in the Seelie Court." Then his eyebrows flashed together, and his lips quirked into a frown.

"What's wrong?" Isabelle asked, blinking away the wetness.

"Clary's here with Luke and his pack," he said, snapping his phone shut in such a way that made it sound angry. "_Dammit_," he swore, flowing to his feet. From the ground, he looked terrible and dangerous. "I told her not to come. I told Luke not to let her come. _Dammit_."

Isabelle rose beside him, the tears sucked away. "I'll come with you. Magnus, keep Alec safe, will you?"

Magnus' look implied her stupidity. "I would've done that anyway."

With an eye roll and a brusque, annoyed snort, the two vanished, slipping like wraiths out the door. Magnus crawled closer to Alec, levering the boy's rag doll head onto his lap. The faeries were still ignoring them, and the Queen was busy enough trying not to lose her head, but if push came to shove, he could slither out and up in the blink of an eye. For Alec, he could fight, even if his muscles felt like Jell-O left out in the sun and his bones had been ground into dust. He had to.

"Magnus?" Alec's voice came quiet but soft as velvet. Healthy sounding. Huge blue eyes staring up at the warlock, his hand shook itself free of his side, sliding over to brush something off Magnus' cheek.

"Yes, darling," Magnus said, the meat behind his eyes beginning to burn and prickle. His nose itched from the inside, almost like a need to sneeze, but not quite. _I'm happy. I shouldn't want to cry._ "I'm here."

The touch of Alec's fingers left a trail of fire that smoldered even when his hand had flopped back into his lap. "I love you Magnus," he said, his lips flitting with a smile. "Even if you are a lying son of a bitch."

"I didn't lie," Magnus pointed out. "I didn't say anything that was a lie."

Alec's eyes shrunk to narrow slits, his face suspicious. "Are you going to leave me again? Are you going to vanish?"

Magnus sighed. _No,_ he wanted to say. Wanted it so badly that an ache built up behind his heart, throbbing painfully. _I'll be there forever._

But the lie wouldn't spring to his lips.

"Not for now," he said, the space in his chest giving an angry pulse. "For now I'm right here."

Magnus didn't even see it coming. He didn't register the movement until Alec was already kissing him.

Familiar arms--icy from their brush with death--knotted around him, one wound into his sweaty, god-awful hair, the other cinched around his waist. Alec tasted like the coppery poison of blood and mildew and _himself_. There was nothing more delicious in this world or the next.

Magnus kissed him back with more force than he'd thought he'd had lurking in the husk of his body. Nothing felt more right than that one noisy, adrenaline-drenched kiss.

Or the one that followed.

Or the one after that.

And when they pulled apart, Magnus wasn't sure if he could ever take more than a few steps away from Alec again.

"Ahaha!" A terrible voice crowed, cutting through Magnus' brain like fingernails on a chalkboard. No, worse, like the howl of hungry wolves in the deep, shadowy forest with a bloated harvest moon hanging overhead. A sound that woke up the part of him that was made of fear and instinct and the voice that said _run, dammit_.

Rhiannon stood in the middle of the suddenly frozen room. It was like some great power had pushed pause on the astral remote, and she was the only one left on play. Her black blade was slippered with blood, her lower half painted with it. On the ground was the Seelie Queen, all-too-still in a pool of crimson that bubbled from her stump of a neck. A few feet away bobbled her severed head, her hair the same color as her blood.

Laughing, Rhiannon nudged her sister's head with her foot like it was a soccer ball. "The witch is dead!"

Magnus wasn't so sure.

**If you don't hate me **_**too much**_**, review please.**


	26. It's Late I Have No Clever Title

**Uhm…holy shit guys…I'm sorry. That took seven months. Jesus Christ. "OTL**

**I made myself finish it by the one-year anniversary, which happens to be toady. Yes, I am cutting it close, I know. Anyway, I have to thank MorbidMandy, who-about a month ago-read my fic, saw that it was and had been for months, on hiatus, and reviewed anyway. And reminded me that I'm a douche and have been leaving you people hanging for seven months now, after you were all so good to me. So, if anyone sees this in their Alerts and actually reads the end, I want you to know how much I love all of you. Like, honestly. I don't deserve any of you. **

**-grovels-**

**Anyway, here is the end of this fic, and I hope whoever reads it enjoys it. I love you guys lots. **

"Oh God…" Magnus swung around as he heard Isabelle whisper, her face huge and white and swallowed by her dark eyes. Jace stood a step behind her, Clary hanging onto his arm with one arm, and wielding an angel blade with her other. Farther back, he could see Luke and the rest of his wolf pack with that girl, Maia, waiting at his side.

Turning back around, Magnus caught sight of Rhiannon in time to see her throw her head back and cackle, the light edging her profile with harsh clarity. With a manic grin, she opened her hand-her sword vanishing in a puff of smoke-and lay it on the armrest of her sister's throne, before sinking into the soft, velvety seat. Magnus thought the room grew noticeably dimmer.

Rhiannon cast her eyes over the bloodied court, over the faeries-Seelie and Unseelie alike-who stood frozen mid-battle, their limbs locked and gazes uncertain. "You don't kneel to your new Queen?" she asked, reaching up to rest her chin on her palm. As if they were all controlled by the same mad puppeteer, the faeries sank to their knees in unison, grotesquely gorgeous head bowing towards the ground. The Unseelie Queen smiled a poison smile. "Better." She snapped her fingers at two Seelie courtiers, and then at the headless corpse of her sister, where it lay rotting. "Now, clean up this horrid mess."

The faeries bobbed their heads and set to work right away, clearing away the body and mopping up the blood.

Magnus turned to Jace, words spitting venomous disbelief. "I can't _believe_ you helped the Unseelie Queen overthrow the Seelie Court."

Jace quirked an eyebrow and half-smile, his weariness evident in every line of his face. He'd been through hell. "Really? I would've thought it would've been pretty easy, seeing as you just witnessed the whole thing."

Magnus scoffed and shook his head, even as Alec reached up and placed a soft hand on his collar. "_Why?_ Why did you agree to it?" he asked, helping the Shadowhunter to sit with his head pillowed against his shoulder, his unsteady breath tickling his throat.

Jace shrugged and moved past Isabelle, Clary following along behind like a lost puppy dog. "I didn't have much choice in the matter," he said, crouching down beside his brother and shooting him a smile. "And she offered me a wish. I figured I could use it to find you two, though this all coincided so nicely that it's not even necessary. Now I can finally get that Plasma screen I've been wanting for the Institute."

Magnus furrowed his eyebrows at the blond boy, because there were no words, no gestures to express the depth of his gratitude, and so he fell back on his net of sarcasm. "I'm not sure it quite works like that, Jace. She's not a genie."

At that moment, Rhiannon clapped her dainty white hands, the sound too loud as it echoed through the cavern. "Shadowhunters. Downworlders," she addressed them, her voice too clear and strong. "I do thank you for your help in liberating the Seelie throne." She nodded at Luke and Maia, then at Isabelle and Jace. "And Jonathon, I did agree to grant you a single boon." Her smile she gave him was quite possibly the closest one to genuine that had ever graced her lips. "What is it you would like?"

Alec struggled up the stairs leading to Magnus' apartment, heavy box cradled in his arms and coughing the smell of mildew at him with every step. Chewing his lip, he wriggled the door open with his hip and walked inside, calling out as he went, "Hey, Magnus, where do you want me to put these books?"

Magnus' voice echoed from the tiny laundry room, where a brand new washer-drier pair sparkled, new out of the box and Alec's boyfriend sat on the floor with the instructions spread out in front of him, his forehead adorably crumpled. "Wherever you want them, hon," he answered without looking up. Alec dumped the box at the foot of the loveseat and walked back over, standing in the doorway.

Magnus glanced up at him and smiled, his spiked hair bound back by a sequined headband. Alec noticed that he was reading the French side of the instructions. "You wouldn't happen to know how to run a washing machine, would you?" he asked.

Smiling back down at him, Alec plucked the unopened jug of Tide and handed it to his boyfriend, who looked at it like it was a new species of spider crawling up his leg. "You pour the detergent in and set the timer. Don't tell me you've lived eight hundred years without knowing how to use a washer?"

Magnus shrugged and studied the instructions written on the back of the detergent. "When you can get by perfectly fine with magic, there's not really any need to know such mundane things." Biting down on his lip, he got to his feet and popped the lid of the washer, dumping in a generous load of soap and flicking on the machine. It answered with a snarl and a rumble as it started churning. "There," he said, grinning. "I think I got it."

The two-toned trill of the doorbell sounded through the apartment, and Alec unhitched himself from the door, walking over to the door.

"Good, because it's time to eat," he said as he opened it for the delivery boy from the Chinese place down the block. The kid-sixteen or seventeen-held out a bulging, grease-stained bag and dropped it into Alec's hands.

"Chicken lo mein, sweet and sour soup, shrimp fried rice and pork dumplings," he rattled off, counting on his fingers as he tried hard to remember. "Eighteen twenty-three."

Alec shifted the food to one hand and dug in his back pocket for his wallet, fishing out a twenty and handing it over just as Magnus came up behind him and lay both hands on his shoulders, fitting his chin into the space between his fingers and Alec's throat. "Mmm, takeout. How did you know?"

To his credit, the delivery boy took his money and tip, shot off a customary "thank you," and disappeared without a rotten word.

Alec grinned and slipped out from under Magnus' hands, dropping off the bag on the table and glancing back at his boyfriend. "Not _just_ takeout," he said, still beaming like an idiot. "Takeout _and_ better-than-sex cake from that bakery on Third." He pointed at a white box sitting on the kitchen counter, a hint of dark brown peeking through the cellophane top.

Magnus smirked, darting forward to pin the Shadowhunter against the edge of the table, resting his hands on either side of his waist. "Better than sex? Just sex, or really _awesome_ sex?" he asked, his voice heavy with teasing. "Because there's a difference, and I find it hard to believe that this cake is better than really awesome sex, no matter how good it is."

Alec twirled about in the cage of his boyfriend's arms, toying with the bottom of Magnus' striped acid-green and black cardigan, slipping long fingers underneath. "Well, you'll have plenty time to compare tonight," he whispered, laying on layer after layer of innuendo.

Magnus raised one eyebrow and leaned closer. "Oh, really? Well then, maybe we should skip dinner straight away, and get started on that bit." Swallowing the last of the distance between them, he brought his lips to the soft skin just beneath Alec's jaw line, teasing it with teeth and tongue, leaving the faintest red mark.

Alec peeled him away, but his hands were gentle and his voice was trembling just a little as he said, "Mmm, dinner first, I think." Stepping back, he pulled out a chair for Magnus, offering it up with a grand sweep of one hand. "We've got the whole night, and you don't want to get hungry halfway through, do you?" He winked. He actually winked.

Grinning, Magnus shook his head in disbelief. "God, you're cute. Alright then, Mr. Chivalrous." Falling down into the open seat, Magnus couldn't hold back a little gasp as Alec bent down over the back of the chair and brushed a kiss over his temple, before moving down to steal his lips for a long, slow, wonderful moment.

When he pulled back, Magnus caught a glimpse of lovely, sparkling blue and flashing white. Breath gushed over his ear as Alec whispered, "Happy Twentieth Birthday, Magnus."

**This is probably asking for way too much from you lovely people, but, if you don't hate me too much, I'd still like to hear what you think. Because, even if I'm done writing this story, I'm not done writing, and there's a good chance the Mortal Instruments fandom might rise to top dog again. **

**So, even if you want to tell me how much I suck, and how much you want to punch me in the ovaries, I'd like to know.**

**Goodbye for now. :D**


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